


Susers and the Losers

by loser_lover



Category: IT (2017), IT - Stephen King
Genre: :3, ??? - Freeform, I love these children?, Like, Multi, Polyamory, They all love each other very much, all i can write is x oc fanfic, also, but uhhhhhh, enjoy???, i took inspo from the movie (2017) and the book sooooo, ummmmmm, what can i say
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-01
Updated: 2018-08-31
Packaged: 2019-04-30 10:50:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 24,734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14495304
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/loser_lover/pseuds/loser_lover
Summary: The Losers Club: Bill "Big Bill" Denbrough, Richie "Trashmouth" Tozier, Eddie Spaghetti Kaspbrak, Stan the Man Uris, Ben "Haystack" Hanscom, Beverly Marsh, Mike Hanlon and Susanna Caro, were connected after IT and the summer of 1989. They all had fears and overcame them. Together. They were together.Of course, that almost never lasts but it's nice while it does.





	1. Susie's Fear

     The rain was pounding in late spring.

     The sun was setting and the streets smelled of fresh rainfall and earth.

     Susanna Caro was making her way home, blue galoshes splashing in any puddle her feet could find and raindrops rolling down her bright yellow slicker.

     She was out to collect flowers to press.

     She was passing through the park with the standpipe in her peripheral, looming over her and she felt a shiver run up her spine. It felt as if the rain that was warm only moments ago turned to ice just looking at the building.

    Susie was always . . . wary of the Derry Standpipe after hearing its stories.

     Local legend has it that two kids snuck in after hours, when it was still open to the public for tours, and decided to go for a swim. However they found, after swimming themselves tired, that they couldn’t get out.

So they swam,

and swam,

and swam.

     Until they could swim no more and so they drowned.

     Their bodies were never found except for a shoe from one boy and a hat from the other.

     She could only imagine what they looked like now: water pouring out of their mouths, eyes, nose, ears, dripping from their fingertips, skin wrinkled, discoloured and slipping off their bodies like loose clothing, their eyes missing having popped out from the force of the bloating.

     Another time, Patrick _Cock_ stetter forced a tale on Susie about a lady who, on tour of the standpipe, dropped her baby into the mirror-smooth black water, its cries being muffled by the water quickly filling its mouth. The baby couldn’t be saved and that was when the silo was shut down. Patrick told her that she dropped the baby on purpose.

     Little 8-year old Susanna was scarred, bawling into her mother’s arms after school. She shushed her and told her it didn’t happen, it wasn’t real. She _really_ wanted to believe her but she . . . she just couldn’t.

     Susie was snapped out of her haze by a hollow rolling _**boom!**_

     She jumped at the sound, not recognising what it was. It wasn’t a gun or a car backfire. More like a door being thrown open in a spooky movie about castles and dungeons . . . complete with hokey echo effects.

     However, she saw nothing.

     Despite her fear of it, Susie carefully made her way to the building, going down Kansas Street. The Standpipe was to her right, a chalky white cylinder, phantomlike in the mist and the growing darkness. It seemed almost to . . . to float.

_An odd thought._

     She looked at the standpipe more closely and unwittingly veered in that direction.

     Windows circled the building in a rising spiral, like a barber pole. The bone-white shingles bulged out over each of the dark windows like furrowed brows over eyes.

     Susie’s eyes trailed down the cylindrical edifice when she saw there was a much larger space of darkness at the base of the Standpipe - a clear oblong in the circular base.

     She frowned, thinking that was a funny place for a window: it was completely out of symmetry with the others when she realised it wasn’t a window. It was a door.

_The noise. It was the door blowing open._

     She looked around. Early, gloomy dusk. White sky now fading to a dull dusky purple, mist thickening a bit more toward the steady rain which fell most of the day and would through the night. Dusk and mist and no wind at all.

     So . . . if it hadn’t blown open, had someone pushed it open? Why? And it looked like an awfully heavy door to slam open hard enough to make a noise like that boom.

     A very big person, she supposed . . . maybe . . .

     Curious, despite the gooseflesh crawling up her arms, Susie walked over for a closer look.

     The door was bigger than she had first supposed - six feet high and two feet thick, the heavy boards which composed it were bound with brass strips. She swung it half closed, testing it. It moved smoothly and easily on its hinges in spite of its size. It also moved silently - there was not a single squeak. Susanna moved it to see how much damage it had done to the shingles, blasting open like that. There was no damage at all; not so much a single mark. Weirdsville, as Richie would say.

_Well, it wasn’t the door you heard, that’s all, she thought. Maybe a jet from Loring over Derry or something. Door was probably open all -_

     Her foot struck something. She looked down and saw it was a padlock.

     Correction, it was the _remains_ of a padlock. It had been burst wide open. It looked, in fact, as if someone had rammed the locks keyway full of gunpowder and then set a match to it. Flowers of metal, deadly sharp, stood out from the body of the lock in a stiff spray. You could see the layers of steel inside. The thick hasp hung askew by a bolt which had been yanked most of the way out of the wood. The rest of the bolts lay on the damp grass, twisted like pretzels.

     Frowning, she swung the door open again, not being able to help her curiosity, and entered the silo. Her rubbery, wet footsteps echoed around the large, circular room, empty except for a narrow, winding staircase leading up to a platform and out of sight, overlooking the gigantic water basin. The outer wall of the staircase was bare wood supported by giant cross-beams which had been pegged together rather than nailed. To Susie, some of the pegs looked thicker than her own upper arm. The inner wall was steel from which gigantic rivets swelled like boils.

     “I-Is anyone here?” she asked, despite her slight fear.

     No answer.

     She stepped inside further so she could peer up the narrow throat of the staircase a little better. Nothing. It was Creep City in here. As Richie would also say. Susie turned to leave . . . and heard music.

     It was faint but easily recognisable.

     Calliope music.

     She cocked her head, listening, the frown on her face dissolving a little to make room for her furrowed brows. Calliope music, all right. The music of carnivals and county fairs. It conjured up trace memories which were as delightful as they were ephemeral: popcorn, cotton candy, doughboys and funnel cakes frying in hot grease and oil, the chain-driven clatter of rides like pop up roller coasters and the teacups.

     The frown had become a slight, tentative grin. Susie went up one step, then two more, head still cocked. She paused again as if thinking about carnivals could actually create one; she could now actually smell the popcorn, the cotton candy, the doughboys and funnel cakes . . . and more! Peppers, chili-dogs, cigarette smoke and sawdust. There was the sharp smell of white vinegar, the kind you could shake over your french fries through a hole in the tin cap. I could smell the mustard, bright yellow and stinging hot, that you spread on your hotdog with a wooden paddle.

     This was amazing . . . incredible . . . irresistible.

     She took another step up and that was when Susanna heard the rustling, eager footsteps above her, descending the stairs. She cocked her head again. The calliope music had gotten suddenly louder, as if to mask the sound of the footsteps. She could recognize the tune now - it was Camptown Races.

     Footsteps, yeah; but they weren’t exactly _rustling_ footsteps, were they? They actually sounded kind of . . . _squishy_ , didn’t they? The sound was like people walking in rubbers full of water.

_Camptown ladies sing dis song, doodah doodah_

  _(Squish-squish)_

_Camptown Racetrack nine miles long, doodah doodah_

_(Squish-slosh - closer now)_

_Ride around all night_

_Ride around all day . . ._

     Now there were shadows bobbing on the wall above her.

     The terror leapt down her throat all at once - it was like swallowing something hot and horrible, bad medicine that suddenly galvanised you like electricity. It was the shadows that did it.

     She saw them only for a moment. Susie had just that small bit of time to observe that there were two of them, that they were slumped and somehow unnatural. She had only a moment because the light in here was fading, fading too fast, and as she turned, the heavy Standpipe door swung ponderously shut behind her.

Susanna ran back down the stairs (somehow she had climbed more than a dozen, although she could only remember climbing two, three at most), very much afraid now. It was too dark in here to see anything. She could hear her own breathing, she could hear the calliope tootling away somewhere above her

_(what’s a calliope doing up there in the dark? who’s playing it?)_

     and she could hear those wet footsteps. Approaching her now. Getting closer.

     She hit the door with her hands splayed out in front of her, hit it hard enough to send sparkly tingles of pain all the way up to her elbows. It had swung so easily before . . . and now it would not move at all.

     No . . . that was not quite true. At first it had moved just a bit, just enough for her to see a mocking strip of grey light running vertically down its left side. Then gone again, as if someone was on the other side of it, holding the door closed.

     Panting, terrified, Susie pushed against the door with all her strength. She could feel the brass bindings digging into her hands. Nothing.

     She whirled around, now pressing her back and her splayed hands against the door. Susie could feel sweat, oily and hot, running down her forehead. The calliope music had gotten louder yet. It drifted and echoed down the spiral staircase. There was nothing cheery about it now. It had changed. It had become a dirge. It screamed and wailed like wind and water and in her mind’s eye, she saw a county fair at the end of autumn, wind and rain blowing up a deserted midway, pennons flapping, tents bulging, falling over, wheeling away like canvas bats. She saw empty rides standing against the sky like scaffolds; the wind drummed and hooted in the weird angles of their struts. Susanna suddenly understood that death was in this place with her, that death was coming for her out of the dark and she could not run.

     A sudden rush of water spilled down the stairs. Now it was not popcorn and funnel cakes and cotton candy and vinegar she smelled but wet decay, the stench of dead pork which has exploded in a fury of maggots in a place hidden away from the sun.

     A wailing cry echoed around the building, sounding damp and mucky.

_A baby?_

     “ _Who’s here?_ ” She screamed in a high, trembling voice.

     She was answered by a low, bubbling voice that seemed choked with mud and old water.

     “The dead ones, Susanna. We’re the dead ones. We sank, but now we float . . . and you’ll float too.”

     She could feel water washing around her feet. She cringed back against the door in an agony of fear. They were very close now. She could feel their nearness, she could smell them. Something was digging into her hip as she struck the door again and again in a mindless, useless effort to get away.

     “We’re dead, but sometimes we clown around a little, Susanna. Sometimes we -”

     It was her pressed flower book.

     Without thinking, she grabbed for it. It was stuck in her slicker pocket and wouldn’t come out. One of them was down now; Susie could hear it shuffling across the little stone areaway where she had come in. It would reach for her in a moment, and she would feel it's cold flesh.

     Susie gave one more tremendous yank, and the flower book was in her hands. She held it in front of herself like a puny shield, not thinking of what she was doing, but suddenly sure it was _right_.

     “Marsh rose!” She screamed into the darkness, and for a moment the thing approaching ( it was surely less than five steps away now) hesitated - Susie was almost sure it did. And for a moment, hadn’t she felt some give in the door against which she was now cringing.

     But Susie _wasn’t_ cringing anymore. She was standing up straight in the darkness. When had that happened? No time to wonder. She licked her dry lips and began to chant: “Marsh rose! Nightshade! Meadow rue! Mayweed! Wood lily! Cowgrass! Buttercup! Oxeye daisy! Trumpet honeysuckle! Liverwo-”

     The door opened with a protesting scream and Susanna took a giant step backward into thin misty air. She fell sprawling on the dead grass. She bent the flower book nearly in half, and later that night she would come to find the clear impressions of her fingers sunken into its cover as if it had been bound in Play-Doh instead of hard pressboard.

     She didn’t try to get up but began to dig her heels instead, her butt grooving through the slick grass, jeans getting soaked and muddy but she didn’t care. Her lips were pulled back over her teeth. Inside that dim oblong Susie could see two sets of legs below the diagonal shadowline thrown by the door, which now stood half open. She could see the jeans that had decayed to a purplish-black. Orange threads lay plastered limply against the seams, and water dripped from the cuffs to puddle around shoes that had mostly rotted away, revealing swollen, purple toes within.

     Their hands lay limply at their sides, too long, too waxy white, like ill-fitting opera gloves on a child’s hands. Orange pompoms seemed sutured onto the fingertips.

     Holding her bent flower book in front of her, her face wet with drizzle, sweat and tears, she whispered in a husky monotone: “Thimbleweed . . . whorled aster . . . doll’s eyes . . . bee plant . . . bellwort . . .”

     One of those hands turned over, showing a palm from which endless water had eroded all lines, leaving something as idiot-smooth as the hand of a department store dummy.

     One finger unrolled . . . then rolled up again. The pompom bounced and dangled, dangled and bounced.

     It was beckoning her.

     Susie Caro, who would come back to this accursed town twenty-seven years later, got to her knees, then to her feet, then ran. She ran across Kansas Street without looking either way for traffic and paused, panting, on the far sidewalk, to look back.

     From this angle, she couldn’t see the door in the base of the Standpipe; only the Standpipe itself, thick and yet somehow graceful, standing in the murk.

     “They were _dead_ ,” Susie whispered to herself, shocked, before taking a puff of her inhaler to calm her lungs.

     She wheeled suddenly and ran for home.


	2. How They Met pt 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just letting you guys know, this chapter contains some slurs, swearing, violence and blood.

        It was a bright sunny summer day. The first day of summer, in fact, and the birds were chirping and children played as the sun and clouds floated lazily across the cheerful blue sky. A perfect day to spend in the air-conditioned coolness of the Derry public library. And that’s exactly what 14 year old Susanna Caro did.

        However, it was almost time for her to leave and so she placed the books she wanted to borrow for the week on the counter for the librarian to check out for her.

        “Is this all, Susanna?” She nodded. Of course, being a regular at the library, her and the staff were on a first name basis.

        “Yes, Ms. Spruce.” She, however, was too respectful to refer to adults by their first name.

        “Susie, you can call me Tabitha.” This wasn’t the first time she's had to remind her. The girl slid her backpack off her shoulders and stuffed it with her new novels.

        “Thank you, Ms. Spruce!” Susie chimed, making the old librarian sigh with a smile on her face. It soon dropped,

        “Are you going to go home now?” the librarian inquired, urging Susie to check her wristwatch. _5:53._

        “Yeah, I should get going. Thanks again for the books.” Susie grinned lopsidedly, sliding the straps of her pack back onto her shoulders and adjusting herself.

        “Alright,” Tabitha hesitated, “just, be careful. You know, what with all the . . .” she just couldn’t bring herself to mention the disappearances of those poor, poor children.

        “Of course, Ms. S! I’ll see you next Monday! Have a good night!” Susanna waved goodbye as she exited the comforting chill of the library and slipped into the sweltering heat outside. She squinted and adjusted the straps on her backpack before setting off for home.

        It was peaceful as she listened to the breeze whistle through the branches of the trees lining the streets, dappling her skin with cool spots of shade, the rhythmic pounding of rubber soles against concrete. Everything was still and serene and she fell into step. However, she felt a sense of unease as she passed the standpipe.

        She always did.

        For whatever reason, as long as she could remember, it always made a shiver run up her spine and goosebumps to raise. She hated it.

        ‘Whatever.’ she muttered to herself before letting out a shudder and refocusing her attention to walking home when it was broken by her kippah being ripped off her head.

        She screamed out in fear and pain but mostly pain as she usually clipped her kippah to her unruly head of curls and, even if it was the first day of summer, that day was no different.

        Susie held onto the offending spot where her skullcap once rested and whipped around to face her violator.

        “So, the eyetie slut is a fuckin’ hymie too.”

        “J-Just give it back, Henry.” She said, clenching her fists and gathering her courage.

        “What the fuck did you just say to me, dago?” Henry growled, almost in disbelief, crushing her kippah in his fist causing his goons to laugh in her face.

        “I said give me my fucking kippah back, asshole.” _‘Okay,’_ she thought, swallowing harshly and digging her nails farther into her palms, little red crescent shapes standing out against the lightness of her skin _‘Maybe I went a little too far but there’s no turning back now.’_

        Henry snarled and crushed Susie’s cap further before throwing it into the road and to see it promptly be run over. Her heart dropped as she stood by and watched it become roadkill, if she was lucky to get out of this, she’d have to scrape it off the road.  


        Unfortunately, she now realized that was the only car on the road that was and would be there.

        Susanna turned back to peer at Bowers who had crept up behind her and was a mere couple of inches from her pale face.

        She was about to start running when he grabbed her arm, eliciting a squeak from the girl’s throat, before wrapping his arm around her and pressing her back to his chest. 

        A scream started to build in her throat when a cool piece of metal was pressed against her neck, effectively cutting off the cry before it could even begin. It didn’t stop her flow of tears, though, as he pressed harder, lightly pricking the delicate flesh and forming small droplets of gleaming, deep red blood compared to her white skin.

        “Just let me do this, slut.” Henry spoke into her ear as she tried in vain to escape his clutches. She whimpered and in one swift motion Henry dragged the knife back, slicing her fragile skin and pushing her to the ground, he flipped her onto her back, her bookbag bunching up around her shoulders, and sitting on her stomach.

        “H-Henry please. Don’t d-do this.” she hiccuped, thick tears clouding her vision but not blocking the blade glimmering in the evening rays of sun.

        “You sound like Stuttering Bill!” he laughed, “But it’s too late for that, kike.” he chuckled darkly before pressing the tip of his switchblade to the arch of her right eyebrow, the sharpness of his words cutting her just as much as the metal.

        “And don’t even think about screaming, bitch.” he whispered with clenched teeth, drool flying from between his teeth as if he were a wild animal and she, his prey. All she could do was blink as more tears spilled from her eyes, whimpers and hiccups caught in her throat. 

        Henry made it slow and agonizing, dragging the point of the dagger through the thin skin of her brow bone. Blood dripped down the side of her face to pool on the ground and mingle with her already shed tears. She just bit her lip to stop any sound from escaping her throat, drawing blood there as well with how hard she was biting down. Henry frowned down at the tiny girl pressed beneath him, skin spattered with blood, tears and freckles, wildly curly hair in a halo about her head, chest heaving and hands shaking but not even whimpering.

        “Nevermind, bitch. I want you to fucking scream as loud as you fucking can.” he cooed with a demented grin curling his lips before calling over Patrick to hold down her arms. Patrick smiled down at her, fingers curling into her soft skin, surely leaving bruises that would be the least of her problems, she began to truly and deeply fear what Bowers would do to her. _She hadn’t done anything to him? Why was he doing this? Because she was Jewish? Italian? A girl? What was he going to do? Would he put her in the ER? A cemetery?!_

        All her frantic thoughts and struggling came an abrupt end as Henry pierced her right forearm, plunging the knife deep into her skin and slowly carving into it, a blood curdling scream ripped from her throat as she felt herself start to fade in and out of consciousness. Her heart was pounding against her ribcage and adrenaline flowed through her, forcing her to stay awake because ‘God knows what Henry would do if I passed out!’ 

        The pain was unbearable and she wanted to kick Henry off. She needed to kick Henry off but as she began to struggle, the books in her bag dug into her back, the sharp corners and edges of the hardcovers hurting and she had to think of another way to help herself.

        The sound of bike tires on asphalt echoed up the pavement to her ears and she prayed someone would finally help her. It felt like hours but time was going in slow motion and it hadn’t even been two minutes since Henry began his slicing. 

        “Bowers!” someone called out, thank whatever cruel god was out there. “Get the fuck off of her, asshole!” Henry looked up with murder in his eyes, the knife was still lodged in her arm, however, and one of her saviours let out a delicate gasp.

        “Jesus, Richie.” one of them mumbled.

         _Richie . . . Richie? Oh! Richie Tozier!_ He was in a couple of her classes. They chatted sometimes but she only really knew him as Trashmouth, aptly so.

        “J-just let her guh-go, Bowers.” _Bill?_

        “Oh yeah? Or what?” he threatened before bending back over and ripping into her arm again and again. Of course, she screamed, arching her back in agony.

        He would have continued when he was hit with a rock to the temple. Falling back a little, Susie took this as her chance to escape his torture, backing up before scrambling over to her heroes.

        “H-hop on.” Bill offered, urging her to get on his bike, and quickly. She stumbled over, chest heaving, almost tripping as she was dizzy from the bloodloss. Luckily, Ben lunged forward to catch her and walked her to Bill’s bike, a kind smile on his chubby face. She hopped on, with Ben’s help of course, and they were off with a ‘Hi-ho Silver away!’, her arms wrapped tightly around Bill’s waist. She felt bad about the blood seeping onto his shirt but didn’t dare let go.

* * *

        The Losers ended up going to Ben’s house as his was the closest and his mom wouldn’t be home for a few more hours.

        Richie and Bill slipped her arms around their shoulders and helped Susie into the house, placing her in a kitchen chair while Ben rushed around and got medical supplies and Eddie washed his hands in preparation to help the bleeding girl.

        He took a puff of his inhaler and slipped on his bifocals. Time to patch her up.

        To be completely honest, Susie was in a bit of a haze and didn’t know where she was. All she had any idea of was that Richie had to peel her off Bill and his bike and that she was safe.

        It was quiet in the kitchen, the only sounds being the slight wheezing coming from Eddie’s lungs and the gentle tap of glass or plastic being set down on hardwood, the occasional hiss rolling off Ed’s tongue whenever he got frustrated or upset.

        After he finally cleaned and staunched the flow of blood from her arm, Eddie paled at what was under it all, the losers’ color draining from their faces as well.

         _ **KIKE**_ was carved into her flesh in a bright red, all caps font, similar to the one Henry used for the ‘H’ in Haystack’s stomach.

        “Oh god.” Stan moaned under his breath in depressed understanding. How could one person be so cruel? Henry wasn’t just cruel though. Oh no, and the Losers would find out later just how messed up Henry could be but back to the issue at hand.

        Eddie was so focused on her arm that Bill stepped forward and, with a damp washcloth, began to gently wipe away the blood and tears from her face. It was the least he could do and she appreciated it, sending a dazed smile his way, eyes not quite focusing as, in all that commotion, she lost her contacts. Of course. How worse could she have gotten it? Luckily, that meant she didn’t notice the very faint but altogether there blush on Big Bill’s face.

        Moments later, Susie’s soft blue eyes (somewhat) focused in the direction of the boys, facial wounds covered in brightly coloured plasters and arm wrapped in a cast of gauze as Bill stepped back to his friends and Eddie cleaned up.

        She looked much better than when they had found her, but still not great as her clothes were stained with blood and dust and her backpack was crumpled and ripped, hair a mess from being pulled then forced into the ground, knees scraped, shoes scuffed. Just overall disheveled but better.

        “Thank you all for saving me but you really didn’t have to. You guys were almost hurt.” she said, her voice velvety and embarrassed, a frown dimpling her cheeks and furrowing her eyebrows. 

        “Are you fucking kidding me?” Richie cried out, pubescent voice cracking with emotion, making everyone jump at his sudden outburst. “He was carving you like a fucking christmas ham! You could’ve fucking bled out and died! Or worse!” Of course there would be worse if she was alone with Bowers and his gang. She couldn’t imagine what would’ve happened if the Losers didn’t arrive when they did.

        Susie ducked her head in shame, a frustrated flush on her cheeks and ears. It was silent. Deafening.

        Stan stepped forward, thin hand dipping into his pocket before crouching down in front of Susie and held out what she was bullied for in the first place.

        “Is this yours?” he said with a gentleness laced with nerves that greatly contrasted Richie’s outburst. It was her kippah, still brightly coloured but covered in dust and crumpled beyond recognition. Her baby blues lit up at the kind gesture as she began to reach for it with her dominant arm, her right one, and she winced. She grabbed the smushed yarmulke, a clip dangling limply from the fabric, and stuffed it in her bag with a kind, shy smile, pink cheekbones and a soft ‘thank you’. He smiled back and stepped back into his spot along the wall with the other boys. Susie grabbed a metal case from her backpack and slipped on a pair of oversized, round glasses so she could get a better look at her saviours.

        “So, um, I don’t really know you guys. Except for Stan. Kinda.” Everyone stared. “H-he’s my rabbi’s son.”

        “W-wuh-well,” Bill started, “We’re th-the Losers-s club. I-I’m Bill, th-that’s E-Eddie, Ben, y-yuh-you know S-Stan,” pointing at the others in conjunction with their names, “and-” Richie cut him off.

        “I’m Richie but you can call me the man of your dreams.” he said in the best sultry voice a 14 year old could produce and placed a soft kiss on her warm hand, bringing a harsh flush to her face. “And you are, milady?” switching to a posh accent and peering up at her from her hand, still in his, with his brown doe eyes magnified through his thick glasses.

        “W-well, I’m Susanna but you guys can just call me Susie. There’s not much to know about me,” she shrugged.

        “Then why was Henry after you? Besides him just being an asshole.” Eddie asked before she shrugged again.

        “I-I dunno. He usually just calls me names or, like, touches me,” she shivered at the thought, arms wrapping around herself, “But he’s never gone this far.” Their faces scrunched in confusion.

        “What does he call you?” Ben asked in a soft voice.

        “Well, I mean, what else would you call a 13 year old Jewish Italian girl?” Susie asked sarcastically, letting out a dry chuckle. “You know, slut, bitch, eyetie, dago, hymie, kike.” she listed, checking off each one on her fingers. She noticed Stan flinch knowingly from her peripheral.

        She sighed, running her fingers through her hair before Bill spoke up from next to her, still lingering from when he cleaned and bandaged her face.

        “H-How does h-he, uh, um, t-tuh-touch yo-you?” he hesitated, getting a little flustered at the thought, and she sighed deeply.

        “W-well, I dunno, he just grabs me from behind, like, on my hips,” she curled into herself in discomfort, face and ears reddening in embarrassment and, almost, shame. “Or he’ll run his hand up my thigh in class o-or flip up my skirt whenever I wear one. Just, little things. I-it’s nothing . . .” Susie mumbled into her knees, legs wrapped up against her chest, averting her eyes. 

        The Losers all chimed in with variations of ‘that isn’t right’ or ‘oh gosh’. Susie let out the breath she didn’t know she was holding. She was relieved as she was expecting to be scolded or shamed.

        “You shouldn’t let him do that to you.” Eddie mentioned, face furrowed in concern causing Richie to spew out,

        “Oh yeah? And what the hell is she gonna do? This is fucking Bowers we’re talking about!” thus causing Eddie to retort and start an argument. Susie sighed and turned to Bill with a weak smile on her face.

        “I-it’s nothing, really. Besides, I should really be getting home.” she said, frowning at her now scratched wristwatch.

        “S-Suh-Susie, it r-really isn’t nuh-nothing. Th-that isn’t r-r-ri-right.” he frowns as he looks into her eyes. A little frustrated, she turned her head, averting her gaze. She gets up with a bit of a huff, a little wobbly on her feet and slung her bag on her shoulders.

        “I should go. Thank you guys for saving me. I mean it.” giving a weak smile and turning to walk out the front door.

        “W-wait, Susie!” she turned around, hands clutching the straps of her backpack. “W-where do y-you live?” Susie cocked her eyebrow at the odd question, wincing a bit before smirking at him, a blush creeping up onto his cheeks.

        “I-I-I muh-mean, s-so one uh-of us could g-give you a r-ri-ride home.” So she shared her address with the boys, all of their attention focused at her again.

        “That’s just down the block from my house!” Richie cried out with joy, pumping his fist in the air and hissing out a ‘yesss’, “Hot girl gets to ride on my bike!”  


        Susie blushed again and they all waved their goodbyes to Ben, hopping on their bikes and heading home. At one point, they were all together, the next, it was just Susie with her arms wrapped around Richie’s waist, head placed on his back, deep in thought.

        “Y-you think I’m hot, Richie?” she asked before hearing a faint ‘hell yeah’ rumble through his chest and accelerated heartbeat, stupid lopsided grin and blotchy, pink flush painted on his freckled cheeks. Of course, she couldn’t see that though.

        Richie screeched to a stop in front of her house, throwing his bike down to walk Susie to her front door like a true gentleman.

        “Well, thanks for everything, Richie.” she cooed rocking back and forth on her heels and hands clasped in front of her, pushing up her glasses with a quick finger. He gently hummed in response.

        Susie leant forward and placed a gentle kiss to his already pink stained cheek.

        “Bye Richie.” she fluttered her fingers at him, giggling as he stared at her with his fingertips pressed against the spot she kissed him, his wide, doe eyes magnified even more by his coke bottle glasses and a dopey grin placed on his lips. Just as she was about to close the door, Richie snapped out of his stupor and called out to her, almost desperately.

        “Wait! Susie!” he cried, hand outstretched, and she paused to listen, eyebrow raised and focused on him. “W-wanna come with us to the quarry tomorrow? I can pick you up if you want.” he said sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck and averting his eyes, phrasing the second part more like a question than a statement. She found it endearing.

        She found him endearing.

        “I’d love to.” she smiled, soft laughter spilling from her lips, “Bye, Richie.” she murmured, finally shutting the door, peeking out the window shortly after to see Richie jump up in the air and pump his fist before hopping on his bike and speeding off.

        She smiled to herself knowing tomorrow would be fun.

 

* * *

        The bright sun shone between the slats of her blinds, casting stripes of golden light onto her peaceful, tender face. It was only peaceful, however, until she groaned and arose, wiping the sleep out of her eyes and stretching, her stiff bones cracking in the quiet haze of her room.

        Sliding out of her bed, she yawned, face scrunching and shifting before she let out a deep exhale and remembered what today was. She woke up fully and became excited for the day to come.

* * *

         _ **Knock! Knock! Knock! Knock! Knock!**_

        Susie jumped at the harsh rapping, but quickly recovered, saying goodbye to her mom, grabbing her bag and rushing to the door in one swift motion.

        Quickly pulling open the door with a bright smile on her face, Susie spooked Richie a little, who still had his fist raised to bang on her front door.

        “Ready to go?” he asked, quickly recouping, that signature smirk returning to his freckled face.

        “Hell yeah.” She beamed, grabbing Richie’s hand and pulling him to his bike.

        The pair met up with the rest of the Losers along the way and they all biked to the Quarry together, laughing and joking, like kids were supposed to.

        Once they arrived, the boys practically ripped off their clothes and began their loogie contest to see who would get to jump first. Gross. 

        When they began arguing, the sound of approaching footsteps interrupted the quiet calm of the forest, putting Susie on edge. However, she had nothing to worry about as Beverly stepped out. Once their eyes met, they lit up and ran to hug one another.

        Beverly and Susie were outcasts and so they stuck together, quickly becoming friends way back in third grade.

        When they pulled apart and Beverly finally got a good look at her, her smile faded and was replaced by furrowed brows and blazing eyes. Susie was Beverly’s only true friend so she was fiercely protective of the smaller girl.

        “Who did this?” Beverly asked, fingering the gauze wrappings on her forearm and her eyes went wide before looking down in what could be described as shame.

        “I’m pretty sure you can figure it out just by looking.” Susie mumbled, pulling back the cloth to expose the letters carved into her pale skin, bright red and irritated.

        “Bowers.” she muttered through gritted teeth and clenched fists, all she saw was red until a small hand touched hers and she looked down to see giant, pleading blue eyes.

        “Please don’t,” she begged, “Not today.” Beverly nodded and unclenched her fists, letting out an exasperated sigh before giving her friend a tired smile.

        “So who’s going to go first?” Stanley asked, peering over the edge of the cliff and into the blue-green water.

        “We will.” Beverly spoke confidently and Susie giggled at the wide eyed slack-jawed look the boys gave them as they ripped off their dresses and ran towards them.

        “Holy shit!” Richie cried as they jumped and the Losers couldn’t help but admire the way their hair rippled as they fell and the curves of their bodies in midair.

        Two splashes, one immediately after the other, echoed throughout the quarry.

        “Pussies!” Beverly yelled up at them, only to be splashed by a giggling Susie.

        Richie was not about to be shown up by a girl, much less two, and he jumped, his lanky body splashing both girls as he hit the water and they squealed. The rest of the boys followed suit and the rest is history.


	3. How They Met pt 2: The Parade

        Susie awoke to her phone ringing and she tiptoed downstairs to answer it.

        “Hello?” she grumbled into the receiver.

        “Susie?”

        It was Beverly. Susie immediately woke up at the panicked tone of her voice.

        “Are you okay? Is - Is your dad home? Did he do anything again?” Susie had had this kind of call from Beverly before so she had to take the usual precautions.

        “N-no. Not that. C-can you just, call the losers and come over?”

* * *

        Susie hopped off Richie’s bike before he even stopped to run over to Beverly. She grabbed the taller girls’ cheeks in her hands, gently turning her face to check her over.

        Beverly smiled weakly at her concern and gently took Susie’s hands in her own before addressing everyone:

        “I-I need to show you guys something.”

        “What is it?” Stan asked, concerned.

        “More than what we saw at the quarry?” Richie snickered.

        “Shut up!” Eddie cried. “Just shut up, Richie!”

        “My dad will kill me if he finds out I have boys in the apartment.” Beverly worried.

        “W-w-w-w-we’ll leave a lookout.” Bill suggested.

        “Richie, you stay out here.” Susie said, taking the lead.

        “Woah, woah, woah,” Richie started. “What if her dad comes back?”

        “Do what you always do,” Susie retorted, “Start talking.”

        Richie sighed as he watched his friends climb the stairs to the Marsh’s apartment, maybe sneaking a peek up a skirt or two while he was at it.

        “It is a gift.”

        Beverly lead the group through her apartment, something new for the boys and something familiar for Susie who held Bevvie’s hand when she realised where they were headed.

        “In there . . .” Bev murmured.

        “What is it?” asked Stan.

        “You’ll see.”

        “Great, bringing us to the bathroom.” Eddie whined matter-of-factly. “You know that 89% of the worse accidents occur in the bathroom and the kitchen.” Bill eased the door open as Eddie continued:

        “And that’s where all the bacteria and fungi are . . . 

        and it’s not a hygienic place . . .”

        Everyone fell silent as they stared in slack-jawed horror at the completely red, bloodstained bathroom.

        “Do you see it?” Beverly whispered, as if to confirm how real this was.

        “Holy shit.” Susie mumbled under her breath. “What happened?”

        “My dad couldn’t see it, I thought I might be crazy.” Beverly murmured, everyone still staring at the bathroom.

        “Well if you’re crazy, then we’re all crazy.” said Stan. 

        “We c-c-c-can’t leave it like this.” said Bill, turning towards the group, taking his place as leader once again.

_Que cleaning montage._

* * *

        The kids had decided to go to the 4th of July parade so the Losers were walking down the street with their bikes in tow, aside from Richie, who was riding in circles around the group, and Susie, who was sitting on the back of Richie’s bike.

        “No, I love being your personal doorman,” Richie complained. “Really, could you wasteoids have taken any longer?”

        “Shut up, Richie.” Stan deadpanned.

        “Yeah, shut up, Richie.”

        “Oh okay, trash the trashmouth, I get it.”

        “Riiich,” Susie breathed, trying to get him to calm down a bit. He, however, continued on like he didn’t hear her, a small frown making its way to her lips.

        “Hey, I wasn’t the one scrubbing the bathroom floor imagining that her sink went all Eddie’s mom’s vagina on halloween.”

        “She didn’t imagine.” Bill spoke up and everyone went silent. “I saw something too.”

        “You saw blood too?” Ben asked.

        “Not blood, I saw G-G-Georgie.” he almost whispered. “It seemed so real.”

        “I mean, it seemed like him but there was this . . .”

        “A clown?” Eddie piped up, to which Bill nodded.

        “Yeah, I saw him too.” Richie stopped his circling. 

        “Wait, can only virgins see this stuff? Is that why I’m not seeing this shit?” Susie lightly slapped his shoulder, uttering a soft ‘beep, beep, Richie’ as she remembered what happened to her that spring. He looked back at her and shrugged.

        It was silent as they continued walking until they spotted a blue Trans Am parked on the side of the road.

        “Isn’t that Belch Huggins’ car?”

        “Yeah, let’s get outta here.”

        “Wait, but isn’t that homeschool’s bike?”

        “Oh fuck, Mike.” Susie breathed before running to help, Bev following soon after. The rest of the Losers threw down their bikes, except for Stan who, of course, put up the kickstand, and followed shortly. 

        Once the group skidded down to the creek, they were shocked and disgusted by what they found: Bowers sitting on Mike, pinning his arms down, with a rock raised as if he was going to bash Mike’s head in.

        Beverly, fuming, picked up a rock and chucked it at Henry, hitting him square in the forehead, knocking him off Mike.

        “Nice throw.” Stanley commented.

        “Thanks.”

        Mike struggled across the creek as the Losers gathered up rocks. Susie, compassionate as always, scrambled down the embankment to help the boy get to a safer place on dry land.

        “You losers are trying too hard. They’ll do you. You just gotta ask nicely, like I did.” Henry sneered as he grabbed his crotch and Susie and Beverly fumed, angry flushes coming to their cheeks and lips peeling back from their teeth in a snarl.

        Ben screamed a war cry of sorts before pelting a rock straight at the bully’s head.

_Bullseye._

        Mike sat in the bushes looking bewildered as the Losers and the Bowers gang engaged in battle.

        “ROCK WAR!” Richie cried before being conked in the head, triggering the rest to start throwing.

        It was getting intense, rocks were flying everywhere. Eddie and Susie, getting excited, hopped forward into the creek to get more rocks. Beverly was throwing them with such speed and force, it was a wonder no one’s heads caved in while Bill and Stanley were throwing them like pitchers, curve balls and corkscrews and fastballs flying from their fingertips, war cries and insults soaring along with the stones.

        It seemed to go in slow motion when Belch Huggins bellowed,

        “Fuck you, bitch!” before being beaned in the middle of the forehead by Beverly. That’s when Belch forfeited, Victor Criss following not long after, leaving Henry, bloodied, bruised and battered to the ground, looking dazed.

        The kids knew it was over and so they started getting Mike out of there, checking themselves over for wounds. Resolute as ever, Richie and Susie stayed behind, rock still clenched in the girl’s fist if the need should arise.

        “Go blow your dad you mullet-wearing asshole!” Susie screamed before dropping the rock to flip Henry the double bird and turning to leave with a huff. Richie stared in awe at the girl before doing likewise to Henry and following, leaving the bully to pick himself up after losing to the kids he bullied.

* * *

        “Are you alright, Mike?” Susie asked, crouching down and placing a gentle hand on his cheek to check him over.

        He stared up at her and a blush rose to his dark cheeks at the caring look in her eyes.

        “Y-yeah, I’m fine. Especially after you all saved me. Thank you.” he stammered, slightly flustered. Everyone smiled a little at the thanks, all looking a little worse for wear.

        “But you shouldn’t’ve done that. Now he’ll be after you guys.”

        “That’s alright. Bowers is always after us.” Susie smiled, helping the farmhand to his feet and dusting him off a little.

        “I guess that’s one th-th-thing we all have in common.” Bill said from the front of the group, leading the way back to the bikes so they could continue their way to the festivities.

“Yup. Welcome to the Loser’s Club”

* * *

        The group was gathered around a popular spot to hang missing children’s posters where they were looking at the latest one posted: Ed Corcoran.

        “They said they found part of his hand all chewed up near the Standpipe.” Stan chimed in.

        “He asked to borrow a pencil once.” Ben said sadly. Bill lifted the bottom of Ed’s poster to find Patrick Hockstetter’s then Betty Ripsom’s then Veronica and so on.

        “It’s like they’ve been f-f-f-forgotten because Corcoran’s missing.” Bill muttered. “Is it ever gonna end?”

        “What the fuck dude?” Richie said after getting the brass instrument he was poorly playing pulled out of his hands by the rightful owner.

        “What are you guys talking about?” asked Eddie walking up to the group with his and Richie’s ice creams in his hand and Susie by his side with her own ice cream.

        “What they’re always talking about.” announced Richie as he grabbed his ice cream cone and slung his arm over Susie’s shoulders.

        “I actually think it will end,” piped up Ben, getting everyone’s attention. “For a little while at least.”

        “What do you mean?”

        “So I was going over all of my data research and I charted out all of the big events.

        The Ironworks explosion in 1908.

        The Bradley Gang in ‘35 and the Black Spot in ‘62

        And now the kids being . . .” he quickly glanced at Bill, halting what he was going to say.

        “I realised this stuff seems to happen every-”

        “27 years.” Bill finished as they gathered around some benches. Stan, Beverly, Bill and Mike were on one, Ben, Susie, Eddie and Richie on the other.

        “So let me get this straight. IT comes out from wherever to eat kids for like a year and then what? IT just goes into hibernation?”

        “Maybe it’s like . . . What do you call it?” Stan began. “You know, the bugs that come out once every 17 years?”

        “Cicadas?”

        “Yeah.”

        “My grandfather thinks this town is cursed.” chimed in Mike. “He says that all the bad things that happened in this town are because of one thing.” All the kids were silent, soaking in what Mike was saying. “An evil thing that feeds off the people of Derry.”

        “But it can’t be just one thing. We all saw something different.” said Stan, the voice of reason as always.

        “Or maybe IT knows what scares us most and that’s what we see.” Beverly said.

        “I-I saw a leper.” Eddie shivered. “He was like a walking infection.”

        “But you didn’t.” Stan argued. “Because IT isn’t real. None of this is.

        Not Eddie’s leper

        or Bill seeing Georgie

        o-or the woman I keep seeing.” Stan’s voice cracked with emotion as he ducked his head into his knees.

        “Is she hot?” asked Richie in a very ‘Richie’ move.

        “No, Richie!” yelled Stan. “She’s not hot. Her face is all messed up. None of this makes any sense.”

        “They’re like bad dreams.” Beverly mumbled.

        “I don’t think so. I know the difference between a bad dream and real life. It was real. I know it.” Susie murmured, their attention turning to her.

        “What did you see?” Ben asked her.

        “I-I got locked in the Standpipe this spring. You know the stories about the kids who drowned?” they nodded. “They were so close I could touch them. I could smell them. They were dead.” she muttered, voice shaking, and she had to take a quick puff of her inhaler to calm herself down. Eddie took her hand and she smiled. A weak smile but thankful nonetheless. 

        After a moment of silence, Susie looked up and noticed the look on Mike’s face. He was thinking. Remembering.

        “What about you, Mike?” He looked at her, then out into the distance.

        “You guys know that house on Harris Avenue? I was inside when it burned down . . . Before I was rescued . . . my mom and dad were trapped in the next room over from me. They were pushing and pounding on the door. But it was too hot. When firefighters found em, the skin on their hands melted down to the bone.” another moment of silence. “We’re all afraid of something.”

        “Got that right.” said Richie.

        “Why Rich? What are you afraid of?” 

        He paused, looking off in the distance at the set up stage and the performers on it before he shuddered.

“Clowns.” 


	4. The House on Neibolt Street

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little more violence but it's Pennywise so . . .? ¯\\_(:/)_/¯

        A slide was slipped into the projector, Ben’s slide, depicting the map of Derry, overlayed onto a map of the sewer system as everyone settled in on the dusty furniture and floor around the projector.

        “Okay. L-look. The s-s-storm drain. Th-that’s where G-G-Georgie disappeared. Th-there’s the Ironworks,” Mike shivered, “a-a-and the Black Spot. Everywhere IT happens. It’s-it’s all c-connected b-b-by the sewers and they all meet up at the-” Ben cut him off, connecting the dots soon after Bill did.

        “The well house!”

        “You mean the house on Neibolt street?” Stan asked, uneasy.

        “You mean the creepy-ass house where all the junkies and hobos like to sleep?” Richie asked, rather, stated.

        “I hate that place.” Bev mumbled, “It always feels like it’s watching me.” Eddie began to hyperventilate, taking a puff of his inhaler. Susie rubbed his back, concerned, trying to get him to calm down.

        “That’s where I saw IT,” he wheezed, “where I saw the clown.” another puff of his inhaler,

        “Tha-tha-tha-that’s where IT lives.” Bill breathed and Eddie continued his labored breathing and Susie got on her knees in front of him, trying to get him to calm down.

        “I can’t imagine anything ever wanting to live there.”

        Eddie couldn’t take it anymore, standing up abruptly and rushing to the front of the group.

        “Can we stop talking about this?” he began frantically, “I can barely breathe. It’s summer. We’re kids, I can barely breathe,” he sucked in a quick breath, “-having a fucking asthma attack and fuck doing this!” his speech picking up in pace and pitch as he began to panic more and more, before he ripped the map off the wall.

        “W-w-what the hell!” Bill cried, “Put the map back!” Eddie resolutely shook his head no as the projector skipped to the next slide, the Losers looked around at each other, confused. Pictures of Bill’s family: his dad and Georgie in baseball uniforms, the family on a trip, a candid photo of Bill and Georgie.

        “W-what happened?” Bill asked, staring down at the projector moving on its own.

        Bill, Georgie and their dad on a rollercoaster.

        Mike began to tamper with the projector, trying to get it to stop.

        A photo of Bill and Georgie at the zoo, smiles plastered on their faces.

        “Guys . . .” Stan mumbled as a photo of the family at Acadia National Park popped up. Georgie’s favorite camping trip.

        Bill and Georgie playing in the yard.

        Bill and Georgie asleep on the couch wrapped together in a blanket.

        Bill and Georgie on a fishing trip.

        The family at a church, dressed in their Sunday finest with their Dad’s arm around Bill’s shoulder, Georgie holding his and his mother’s hand. The only thing off about the picture was their mother’s hair in her face, granted it was windy, but it was odd.

        The projector kept zooming onto the church picture. Onto Georgie.

        “Georgie . . .” Bill whispered, eyes becoming glossy and lip quivering.

        Stan and Richie looked at each other before the projector began to pick up speed.

        “Bill?” It kept zooming into Georgie’s smiling face, hair mussed and small hand gripping his mother’s. Everyone looked on with wide eyes and slack-jawed faces, the quick switching from each slide illuminating their faces in the dark, dusty room.

        The projector then began to focus in on Mrs. Denbrough, red hair still in her face. Of course it was, it was a picture, unmoving. A moment frozen in time.

        Again, the projector began to pick up speed, they could see Mrs. Denbrough clearly through her hair now, mouth open and eyes closed. The images were quick, almost like an animation that reversed the blowing of her hair in her face, more covering it entirely until IT’s face appeared. That’s when they began to scream.

        “WHAT THE FUCK!” Eddie cried, clinging to himself. “WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT!” The Losers scrambled back against the wall, backing away from the images on the wall.

        “I DON’T FUCKING KNOW!” Richie yelled at Eddie, grabbing his arm and pulling him close. Susie still sat down in front, frozen in fear, eyes wide and face blank.

        “Turn it off!” Beverly commanded in a strong voice. How was she so calm?

        “Turn it off!” She screamed. Nevermind. Pleas of ‘turn it off’ rang out from the other children when Mike kicked the projector over, forcing it to spill all the slides and they all breathed a sigh of relief, looking at each other. That didn’t stop It’s terror though.

        The projector kept going, slowly now that it was damaged, pointed at the wall. IT’s face, blurry and distorted appeared and then it was gone. Just the church in the background and everyone breathed out a sigh of relief as Eddie panted and took another hit of his inhaler, still clinging to Richie.

        The room was dark for a moment when a giant Pennywise popped out of the screen. It’s orange eyes were bulging and red lips parted in a wide, unnatural smile to show row upon row of yellow, jagged daggers for teeth. They screamed, of course, eyes wide and terror etched in their faces.

        “Run, Stanley!”

        “Susie!”

        In between moments of darkness, still thanks to that damned projector, the clown snapped its neck to stare at the kids before it slithered out of the projector light, ground shaking with each foot he moved forward.

        Dark.

        The kids were falling over each other, backing up to get away, arms out and groping, trying to protect one another and seek protection.

        Pitch black.

        It crawled up to Beverly and Susanna who were now pressed against a garage door and snarled in their faces with that bloody red mouth of his, drops of spit flying as he growled.

        Blindness.

        Susie and Bevvie gripped each other in a way to sort of comfort the other in what they believed to be their final moments. It reached for the girls, dirty glove extending towards them as they sobbed in each other’s arms when Ben and Mike got the other garage door open, spilling sunlight into the room. 

        They just stood there and opened their eyes which were sore from squeezing them shut so hard. Panting and shaking, they turned to the boys that just saved them, hands pressed over their rapidly beating hearts. 

        Beverly absentmindedly patted Ben’s shoulder with a ‘Thanks, Ben’ before turning to Bill. Susie collapsed in Ben’s arms, exhausted and bawling from that experience, grabbing fistfuls of his t shirt as Ben rubbed comforting circles in her back and shushed her, much like her mother did when she was younger and had a bad dream. But this was no dream.

        “It saw us.” Eddie whimpered, inhaler still in hand. Richie placed a comforting hand on his shoulder and gave a light squeeze. Eds only became more panicked, however. “It saw us and It knows where we are!”

        “It always did.” Bill said dismissively before shoving through the Losers to his bike. “Alright, so let’s go.”

        “Go?” Ben asked with Susie still clinging to him, “Go where!”

        “Neibolt.” Bill said firmly. “That’s where G-G-G-Georgie is.”

        “Are you fucking kidding me?” Susie whimpered, arms crossed in defense. However, her face softened when she saw Bill’s lip quiver. He really believed that’s where his brother was. And what kind of friend would she be if she didn’t help her friends? A moment of silence passed through the group before she let out a tired sigh and mumbled that she would go. The rest weren’t going to follow so easily, however.

        “After that?!” cried Stanley.

        “Yeah, it’s summer, we should be outside . . .” Richie tried, losing conviction as he went. Bill was getting annoyed as he let out,

        “If you say it’s summer one more f-f-f-fucking time.” through gritted teeth before hopping on his bike and pedaling away, leaving no choice to the other kids as they scrambled to chase after Bill, calling after him and following the ‘Hi-Ho Silver awaaaaaay!’ in the growing distance. 

* * *

        “He th-th-th-thrusts his fist against the p-p-post and still insists he sees the g-g-g-ghost.” Bill muttered as he pulled up to the dreaded Neibolt house and threw his bike down before mounting the steps and was about to go in before,

        “Bill! Wait!” Beverly called, halting him in his path. He turns to look at her. At all of them.

        “Bill you can’t go in there.” Bevvy pleaded. “This is crazy.”

        “Look,” Bill started, “You don’t have to come in with me but what happens when another Georgie goes missing? Or another Betty or another Ed Corcoran or one of us?” Silence followed, their eyes glued to him.

        “Are you just going to pretend it didn’t happen like everyone else in this town? Because I can’t. I go home and all I see is that Georgie isn’t there. His clothes, his toys, his stupid stuffed animals, but he isn’t. So walking into this house, for me . . . it’s easier than walking into my own.”

        “Wow.” Richie breathed.

        “What?” Ben asked.

        “He didn’t stutter once.”

        Bill turned to go into the house, assuming everyone would follow him before Stan called out.

        “Wait!” he fumbled, “Uhhh, shouldn’t we have some people keep watch? Just in case something bad happens?” he said as he wrung his hands, nervousness obvious on his face. Bill let out an exasperated sigh.

        “Wh-wh-wh-who wants to stay out here?” he asked, hands on his hips like a scolding parent. Everyone but Susie and Bev raised their hands.

* * *

        “Fuck.” Richie began to complain as him, Eddie, Bill and Susie walked into the Neibolt house. They tried to stop her, wanting to protect her, but she was going in one way or another. “I can’t believe I picked the short straw. You guys are lucky we’re not measuring dicks.”

        “Shut up, Richie.” Eddie pouted. He didn’t even know why he was in there, especially after that encounter with the walking disease. He shivered at the thought, nose scrunching up at the decay and rot in the house. “God, I can smell that.”

        “Don’t breathe through your mouth.” Richie warned.

        “How come?” Eddie was really curious now.

        “Cause then you’re eating it.” Richie smirked and chuckled as Eddie began to gag and take a quick puff of his inhaler.

        The group went into a room that was, surprise surprise, filled with decay, a big rotting house plant was in the corner draped in dust and cobwebs. Richie stepped forward to examine a piece of paper stuck in one of the branches.

        It was a missing poster. Of him. His breathing became labored as he began to freak out. Susie noticed and rushed over to him, placing a gentle, warm hand on his shoulder and rubbing gently to try to calm him down.

        “What?” she asked softly.

        “It says I’m missing.” Bill noticed Richie’s issue and walked over.

        “Y-y-y-you’re not missing, R-Richie.” He assured.

        “Then why’s it say so, that’s my shirt,” his breathing picked up,

        “That’s my hair,” voice rising in pitch,

        “That’s my face . . .” then volume.

        “This isn’t real, Richie.” Eddie piped up.

        “What the fuck! It says I’m missing! Am I missing?! Will I disappear?!”

        “Take it easy.” Bill urged.

        “Look at me, Richie. Look at me.” Susie said forcefully, yet gently, grabbing his face in her hands, turning him to look at her, his eyes wide and panicky, chest heaving.

        “This isn’t real. It’s playing tricks on you. Breathe with me, Rich.” She placed his hand in the center of her chest, forcing a flush to his face, before breathing deep and steady for Richie to follow.

        He was beginning to calm, missing poster still clenched in his fist when a weak voice rang through the house.

        “Hello?” It sounded like it was coming from upstairs.

        The kids moved over to the grand staircase, but not before Susie ripped the poster from Richie’s hand and tore it in half, replacing it with her hand and walking to the other boys.

        “Hello?” The voice called again as they arrived at a long hallway with a door at the end. It was panting and heaving, breathing with great difficulty. A young girl’s body was on the floor, her sallow face looking at them. “Help me, please!”

        “Betty? Ripsom?” Bill and Richie asked softly before she was violently dragged away, a harsh scream ripping through the house. They all looked at each other and gulped before approaching the doorway.

        “Eddie . . .” a raspy voice called from behind him and he turned toward the other end of the hallway. “What are you looking for?”

        “Guys, do you hear that?” Eddie asked behind him, turning to see them in the room at the other end of the hallway, door shutting, effectively splitting the group.

        Richie, Bill and Susie entered the room, sweeping their eyes over it, looking for Ripsom.

        “She was just here, where the fuck did she go?” Richie asked in his usual loud voice but he squeezed Susie’s hand tighter in fear and she squeezed back before the door clicked behind them.

        “Guys? Guys?! Guys!” Eddie cried, running towards the door separating them before the floor gave way.

        “Eddie? Eddie!” The Losers called from the other side of the door, pulling on the knob and banging on the wood. It was locked!

        Eddie stood there, panting when a hand placed itself on his shoulder, long, thin, decaying fingers curling around the fabric and he froze. 

        “Time to take your pill, Eddie.” the voice rasped in his ear and he turned, hoping it wasn’t who -or what -he thought it was. Unfortunately, it was exactly what he feared. The leper roared, his dark, rotting tongue holding one of Eddie’s bright red pills. He yelped before falling backwards down the hole in the floor and onto an old table, breaking it in half. Eddie groaned before passing out, head slamming onto the table.

        “Eddie!” Susie and Bill called, still banging on the door. Richie turned to the room, noticing an open door.

        “Eddie! Open the door!”

        “Richie.” ‘Eddie’ called from the blue-toned open door full of tall white sheets.

        “Are you okay? Eddie, what’s going on? Eds. Eddie.” Richie called from afar, not wanting to go in that room.

        “Hiya, Richie.” an off-coloured Eddie said with a raspy chuckle from behind one of the white sheets before hiding yet again.

        “Eddie!” Richie whisper-yelled. “Eddie! Eddie?” he said, slinking into the room, looking around for the asthmatic. He couldn’t find him. “Where the fuck are you? We’re not playing hide-and-seek, dipshit.” he scolded before the door shut quietly behind him.

        Susie felt something wrong in her gut and turned just to see the door close on Richie, cutting off another part of the group. Susie ran over to his door and started wiggling the knob, tears threatening to fall as she began to panic.

        “Richie!” she cried before sinking to the floor, her head in her hands and chest heaving in the beginnings of a panic attack, something that happened all too often, unfortunately.

        Bill stopped his banging and rushed over to Susie, eyes darting all over her.

        “W-w-w-what happened!?” he begged, panic setting in on him too, but not like hers.

        “R-r-ri-i-ch,” she heaved, needing to stop to try to breathe but that was all Bill needed to begin to tug on the door.

        Richie screamed before Bill was finally able to rip open the door just as Rich ran towards it. He leaned against the door before noticing Susie with her hands gripping her biceps hard enough to leave bruises. The boys dropped to her level, trying to get her to calm down.

        The mattress in the adjoining room began shaking violently before Eddie’s grey, dirty head ripped through it before smiling a limp smile, chapped, cracked lips parting over dirty teeth.

        “Wanna play loogie?” it rasped before shaking violently, thick black liquid spilling from its chapped lips, burning through the leaves and dust on the floor.

        The boys hoisted Susie up and turned around to find the door they walked through replaced with three doors reading ‘Very Scary’, ‘Scary’ and ‘Not Scary at All’ in blood, the drips falling in reverse.

        They exchanged looks before ripping open the door labeled ‘Not Scary at All’.

        It was completely dark and from that darkness, a weak voice whimpered,

        “Where’s my shoe . . ?”

        So Bill reached into the inky blackness for a light switch. It blinked on to reveal Betty Ripsom hanging from the ceiling, screaming, with her whole lower half missing, like it was bitten off.

        The boys slammed the door shut with a scream.

        “Where the fuck where her legs!?” Richie cried.

        They quickly turned around to see the tar approaching faster and faster so they pulled the door open again to reveal the hallway they originally walked down, letting out an almost-not-there sigh of relief. Very little relief at that.

        “Oh thank fuck.” Richie breathed.

        “Where’s Eddie?” Bill asked before a blood curdling scream ripped through the house, begging for help.

_**Eddie.** _

        Wasting no time, the kids ran down the hallway. Susie was still panicking, but less now that both Richie and Bill were by her side. Rushing down into the kitchen, they found IT hovering over Eddie and their pounding hearts caught in their throats. IT quickly turned around and put a frown on its face.

        “This isn’t real enough for you, Billy? I’m not real enough for you?” It whined with mock hurt.

        Richie cried “Holy fuck!” when he saw Eddie and his broken arm cradled to his chest.

        “I was real enough for Georgie.” and It’s crimson lip quivered and drool dripped before rushing at the three.

        “HOLY FUCK!” Susie screamed pressed against Richie’s chest with Bill in front of them, a protective arm in front of the two before a spike pierced its eye. Beverly.

        It froze and began to whimper and whine, blood dripping in reverse, floating to the ceiling. While It did that, the three ran over to a dry heaving Eddie who was panicking again with “Get Eddie - Get Eddie,” and they were all screaming.

        “Guys watch out!” someone cried from the doorway as It quickly turned and charged again, taking long, slow, agonising steps. More screams echoed through the large house, magnified by the closeness. Susie kneeled in front of Eddie, protecting him, Richie held his face, turning him to look away from that monstrous clown and Bill and Bev were pressed against the wall, trying to get as far away from It as possible.

        It laughed before spinning around, arm and claws outstretched, ripping into Ben’s stomach.

        “Ben!” Susie screamed as he fell into Mike with the force of the blow, pure fury and agony on his pudgy face.

        The clown looked at them all with his good eye, red iris focusing on each and every one of them before jumping quickly at the group to scare them, feeding on that fear and slinking away, an impossibly wide, toothy grin ripping at It’s face despite knowing it was defeated. Only this time.

        They were all crying in fear when Bill rushed after the clown. Everyone screamed even more, begging him to stop, to come back, only getting to the basement in time to see It lowering into the well, It’s eyes trained on him. Tears had cleared new paths in their dirty cheeks by the time Bill was back. He just stood in the middle of the room as Susie grabbed Eddie’s face to force him to look at her while Richie snapped his arm back in place. He didn’t shed any tears or even flinch when Eddie screamed from the pain and Susie cried harder. Beverly was just looking at him while Stanley stood still in shock and Mike was helping a blood-caked Ben to his feet.

        They ran outside, Mike cradling a tearstained Eddie in his arms before placing him in his bikes basket. Richie and Susie clung to each other, Beverly holding her hand as well. Stanley was still in shock, shuffling out to his bike, still propped up in the road and they all rushed home.

* * *

        “You! You did this!” Mrs. Kaspbrak cried, pointing a thick accusatory finger at the Losers, “You know how delicate he is.” gesturing at a dirty, weeping Eddie sat in her stationwagon, cradling his arm.

        “We were attacked, Ms. K.” Bill tried, pleading for her to understand it was the truth.

        “No!” she cried in a shrill voice, “Don’t try to blame anyone else.” she sent a quick glare at them all before fumbling with her keys, dropping them in the process. She struggled to bend down to get them when Beverly and Susie stepped forward to help her as, even though they were still shaken up, they were still kind hearted and helpful.

        “Get back!” she bellowed, snatching the keys off the ground before getting in the girls’ faces.

        “Oh I’ve heard of you. Both of you. I don’t want dirty girls like you touching my Eddie.” she growled in their faces and Susie began to panic again.

        “Ms. K, I-” Susie began, trying to fix the poor situation they were in.

        “No! You’re all monsters. All of you!” she shrieked, jabbing another fat finger at the kids. “Now Eddie’s done with you, you hear? Done!”

        She squeezed herself into the front seat, grappling with the keys again before speeding off, Eddie sending an apologetic look at the last possible minute.

        They stood in silence for a moment, aside from Susie’s slightly labored breathing, before Bill turned toward the group.

        “I saw the well,” their eyes went wide. “W-w-w-w-we know where it is and next time we’ll be better prepared.” Susie’s breathing picked up, along with her heartbeat, as sweat began to gather on her brow and tears in her eyes when Richie began to shout.

        “NO!” Richie yelled, voice cracking with the force of the scream, “No next time, Bill! You’re insane!” Bill’s face flashed with emotions at Richie’s outburst. Shock, anger and frustration blurred across his features.

        “Why? We know nobody else is gonna do anything.”

        Mike began to comfort Susie, pulling them both to the asphalt beneath their feet and placing his large hands on her small shoulders.

        “Eddie was nearly killed and look at this motherfucker,!” Richie’s voice and motions getting more frantic and wild every second. “He’s leaking hamburger helper!”

        “We can’t pretend it’s going to go away. Ben,” Bill turned toward the boy, locking eyes with him. “You said it yourself, It comes back every 27 years.”

        “Fine!” He was shouting as well now. “I’ll be 40 and far away from here!” He turned to Beverly now. “I thought you said you wanted to get out of this town too.”

        “Because I want to run towards something, not away.” Beverly cried.

        “I’m sorry but who invited Molly Ringwald into the group?” Richie joked like usual but more intense, angerier. Bev flipped him off.

        “Richie . . .” Susie whimpered.

        “I’m just saying! Let’s face facts, real world. Georgie is dead. You couldn’t save him but you can still save yourself.” Trashmouth cried. Bill paled at the statement.

        “No!” Bill burst. “T-t-t-take it back!” everyone grew quiet.  


        “You’re scared and we all are but take. It. Back.” he spoke through gritted teeth, giving Richie a harsh shove with the sharp click of the ‘k’.

        “Bill!”

        “You’re such a loser.” Richie hissed, truly meaning to hurt Bill with the name, as he shoved him back.

        “Richie, just-” but it was cut off with a sharp crack as Bill punched Richie in the face and the rest of the kids, minus Susie whose freak-out turned into a full blown panic attack, rushed forward to break it up.

        “You’re a bunch of losers!” He yelled, struggling with the arms holding him back. “Get us all killed,” he growled. “While trying to catch a fucking clown.”

        “Stop!” Beverly shrieked, standing between the two boys. “This is what IT wants, IT wants to divide us! When we’re all together, when we heard it, that’s why we’re still alive.” she looked them all in the eyes but none of them met her pleading irises.

        “That’s why we’re still alive.” Bill reiterated.

        Richie dropped to the concrete beside a teary, shaking Susie and wrapped an arm around her shoulder, glaring at Bill, believing it was his fault she was panicking.

        “Yeah?” he asked, still looking Bill right in the eye, “Well I plan to keep it that way.” Richie picked up Susie, placing her gently on the handlebars between his arms and rode off, causing the rest to scatter, Stan one way, Ben the other.

        “Mike . . .” Beverly pleaded.

        “Guys . . . I can’t do this. My grandad was right . . . I’m an outsider, gotta stay that way.” he sighed before mounting his bike as well, leaving Bill and Beverly in the dust.


	5. The Night They Fight IT

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Violence and Swearing

 

        “Bill. This isn’t a good idea. I know Beverly is down there but . . .”

        “Stanley . . .” Susie called out to him, begging him to stop with the softness of her voice.

        “N-no, S-S-S-Stan! I c-can’t not d-do this! W-We can’t not do th-this.”

        Bill rested his forehead against the door, eyes closed and watching his breathing so he wouldn’t cry when he felt a soft hand on his shoulder. He looked into the impossibly warm blue eyes of Susanna. Perhaps it was her heart that made her eyes so warm. Perhaps her love for all the Losers. Perhaps that’s why her impossibly warm eyes turned an icy, unforgiving blue that sent a shiver down Bill’s spine whenever she looked at Henry and his gang. Perhaps.

        However, right now, she was standing right in front of him, hand extended, begging him to take it with her upturned palm. He grabbed her hand noting the pleasant warmth and softness of it, especially compared to the harsh coolness within that wretched house, when he was swept into an equally sweltering hug. She rested her head on his chest, as he was at least five inches taller than her, hearing the accelerated beating of his heart at the affection she was showing.

        It only took a second before Bill wrapped his arms around her, resting his head on hers, his nose buried in her soft hair.

        Susie lifted her head to look up at him with those big blue eyes he couldn’t resist staring at. She couldn’t help herself either. She reached her hands up to cup his flushing cheeks, stroking her thumbs across his soft skin as her baby blues peered into Bill’s soul.

        Susie stood on the tips of her toes and placed a gentle kiss to his forehead then took his hand before turning to the others.

        “Bevvy was right. If we split up like last time, that clown will kill us, one by one. But if we stick together, all of us . . .” Susie started, gripping Bill’s hand to stop her own from shaking, and so he continued.

        “We’ll win.” He saw the doubt and fear on their faces and squeezed her hand back.

“I promise.”

 

* * *

  

        Bill and Susie led the way into the well house, still holding hands, clinging to each other in hopes of feeling more brave. It sort of worked. They felt slightly more courageous. A sort of coagulation of their resolution formed in their inner mind, taking the form of a round cloud, leading the way to that revolting well.

        “Eddie, you got a quarter?” Richie asked, stretching out and draping his arm over Eddie’s shoulders.

        “I wouldn’t want to make a wish in that fucking thing.” he gagged, nose scrunching up at the smell and small arms pulling inward, as if he could curl up into a ball to escape the obscenity of that pit, knowing full well he would have to go down it in a few moments.

        “How are we supposed to get down there?” Susie turned to Bill and he faltered when Mike stepped forward, grabbing a rope and throwing it down the hole before making sure it was secure and turning to the group.

        Ben stepped forward, going down first. Next was Bill with Eddie on his back. Then Stanley, then Richie. Susie was about to go when the losers at the bottom of the well heard a smack and thud, Susie screaming Mike’s name before turning and growling,

        “Henry.”

        Their hearts stopped. Bill and Richie looked at each other, both thinking the same thing.

        “We have to get up there and help them!” Richie cried before Henry’s face appeared over the edge of the well and started pulling up the rope. The boys lunged and jumped for it but they were too late and the bully disappeared. They feared the worst. The two teens at the top weren’t feeling so good either.

        “You should’ve stayed out of Derry. Your parents didn’t, and look what happened to them. I still get sad every time I pass that pile of ashes, sad that I could’nt’ve done it myself.”

        Susie was helping Mike up when Henry turned back to them, dropping the rope, regurgitating that stupid monologue. They both glared at him but when he started stepping toward them, cocky smirk plastered on his face and dark eyes, their stern gazes fell short. However, Susie had a strong resolve and stalked up to Henry. He began to smirk even more.

        “Oh, come to play with me now?” He said, eyes raking over her form. She choked back a gag but he seemed to like it. They both looked over when Richie screamed,

        “Fuck off, Bowers! Don’t you dare fucking touch her!” He chuckled darkly, turning to talk down the pit.

        “Oh don’t worry. I won’t hurt her. I’ll make her feel real good.” He turned back to her only to be met with a kick to the dick and, when he crouched down to grab his groin in pain, a knee to the jaw, knocking him to the ground.

        “Susie!” The losers in the well cried. She peeked her head over the edge.

        “We’re okay! Just a moment!” She spoke too soon, however, as Henry slowly picked himself up and got behind her. She quickly turned around but Henry was too fast and grabbed her neck, pressing her back against the lip of the well and forcing her upper half over the edge. If she fell, she would die. The Losers screamed.

        “You fuckin’ bitch. Just let me make you feel real nice and I won’t hurt ya too much.” She started to cry, gasping for breath and clawing at the hand clamped around her throat. Not wanting to die but not wanting to submit to Henry when there was a gunshot and Henry dropped her. She started to fall back, a scream building in her throat, when someone caught her. It was Mike, thank whatever cruel god was out there. She barely hesitated when she jumped into his arms, crying, thanking him over and over again. Luckily, Henry was passed out from the gunshot wound in his foot.

        “We’re okay.” Mike called down the well with a sigh before checking the rope again. Before going down, he began to reload the revolver, getting one more bullet in before the rest tumbled down the well, making light tinkling noises and glittering in what streaky light there was as they fell and spun. At least he had something. Helping Susie shimmy down first, Mike kept a wary eye on Henry. They were both met with hugs at the bottom.

        Richie, Ben and Bill immediately circled her in a hug, Richie getting to her first. Eddie met Mike at the bottom.

        “Um, guys?” She said from the center of her group hug. The boys hummed in response, not letting her go. “Where’s Stan?” Their eyes shot open. She heard Richie mutter ‘shit’.

        “Stanley? Stanley! Where are you!” was cried as they journeyed through the sewers, Eddie muttering something about greywater.

        A scream echoed around the cavern and they knew who it was and began running, hoping they could get to him in time.

        They finally found a door with a sort of muffled crying coming from behind it. They busted it open to find Stanley’s face being sucked by a lanky, misshapen monster woman and they all froze with ‘holy shit’s on their lips. However, not a moment later, Susie rushed forward, totally disregarding her own safety for Stanley’s. They all cried out in fear for her but that didn’t stop her.

        She shoved that _thing_ off of him, teeth bared and fists clenched, expecting it full well to attack her next. It just hissed, bloody spit flying out of its grotesque, pointy mouth and slunk away into a dark corner, disappearing from the room.

        Of course, it wasn’t over. Just to scare the kids, Pennywise stuck his head out, smiling grotesquely and they all screamed for Susie to back away. She was still standing firm, ready to attack. But, just as quickly as he came, he sunk away and was gone.

        Susie only then became vaguely aware of Stan yelling at the others to back off, that they left him, that they weren’t really his friends.

        She turned to the Losers, panting, just now aware of what she’d done and what just happened to Stan.

        Stanley sunk further into the ground, his knees tucked into his chest and his head in his hands. He only looked up when he started to hear Susanna start to sob and dry heave, like she was having a panic attack. He wasn’t doing so well either. Once she sunk to her knees, he crawled over to her in an act of comfort, his lanky arms engulfed her in a hug, and she, him.

        He laid his head on her shoulder, his tears mixing with his blood and soaking her shirt, Susie crying on his as well, not caring about either of the stains. The rest just watched, dumbfounded, especially since Stanley just said the losers weren’t his friends, thinking that included Susie as well.

        Not a moment later, Susie grabbed Stan by the shoulders, pushing him off her to stare into his eyes, then shifting her hands on the back of his neck, aware of the fresh teeth marks littering his jaw, to pull his face in to pepper it with kisses ─ his forehead, his cheeks, his nose ─ punctuating each kiss with ‘thank god you’re okay’ and ‘I don’t know what I’d do without you’. Wiping her tears, she let out a dry chuckle and sniffle before pulling him in for another hug. His hands gripped her shirt and she rubbed his back as it wracked with sobs.

        Susie lifted her head to peer at the rest of the losers before extending her arm to the rest of them, beckoning them close. She knew what Stanley needed and shushed him, rocking him, as the rest of their friends gathered around him and he was engulfed in a hug.

        There were hands clinging to each other’s clothes and tears being shed and soft, comforting words being uttered.

        “We would never leave you.”

        “We’re so sorry.”

        “We love you.”

        However, everyone’s heads snapped up at Eddie whispering,

         “Where’s Bill?”

_“Fuck.”_

 

* * *

  

        They scrambled out of that horrid room, Susie leading the way, and found a tiny door leading to a large room with a tall ceiling and a skylight. Dirty sunlight was streaming over a giant pile of junk, all Derry’s missing children floating around it and they were shocked into silence.

        That is, until they saw something that caught their eye, floating lower to the ground than the rest of the kids.

        “Beverly!” Susie and Ben cried out, scrambling forward toward the girl with the hair like January embers. They tried jumping for her but, being too short, Susie climbed onto Ben’s broad shoulders. Grabbing Bev’s ankle, she dragged her down only to find those turquoise eyes they loved so much were glazed over, pure white and unmoving.

        Susie let out a choked sob, calling for Beverly, brushing the girl’s fiery red hair out of her face, Ben, meanwhile, just had tears streaming from his gently gazing eyes as he held Bev’s cold, limp hand and rubbed Susanna’s back as it wracked with sobs.

        Ben sweetly kissed Bevvie’s soft but chilly knuckles when Susie cupped the girl’s pale, icy cheeks and smashed her lips to hers, tears dripping onto her pallid, freckled cheeks. The Losers’ hearts broke at her desperate attempt to wake Beverly. She poured all her heart into that kiss, wanting her to just please wake up. Susie gave up with a sigh and pressed a wet kiss to her forehead before squeezing her eyes shut and resting her forehead on Beverly’s, crying quietly, warm tears dripping onto both of their clothes.

        Susie didn’t realize when the color returned to her eyes and warmth trickled back into her body; she thought her attempt what pointless until Beverly awoke with a shallow inhale. Bev was still out of it but when her eyes properly focused to see heartbroken Susanna sobbing over her with her warm hands placed tenderly on her cheeks and forehead pressed to hers, her heart broke at the sadness but swelled at the tenderness of it all. Bev reached up and gently placed her hand on Susie’s tearstained cheek, stroking it with her thumb and shocking the girl’s bloodshot eyes open. She didn’t notice Bev wake.

        “Su-sie?” Beverly croaked out, confused.

        “Bevvie!” Susie cried out, bawling again with happy tears running down her face, and tackled Beverly in a hug, Ben following soon after, and attacked their faces in kisses, much like Susie did Stanley. And, of course, the others were happy as well, joining in on the tight hug, not noticing the absence of Stuttering Bill.

 

* * *

 

         After a moment in the group hug, Beverly noticed something missing and stepped back.

        “Where’s Bill?”

        They all froze before scrambling about to find their leader. And find him they did. There was Bill. Talking to Georgie.

        They couldn’t believe their eyes.

        Georgie was _dead_.

        He couldn’t be there yet, there he was, crying to Bill that he wanted to be home. That he loved him. Bill was crying too. Of course he was.

        “I love you too,” he paused, “But you’re not Georgie.” he whimpered before placing the barrel of Mike’s grandfather’s gun to ‘Georgie’s’ forehead. They were both crying. Of course they were.

        The sobbing abruptly ended with a sharp gunshot and Georgie fell backwards, a clean bullet hole in his head but no blood seeping out, a red flag not one of the children noticed.

        It was silent. Too silent for too long and Bill began to worry that he actually shot Georgie. Of course, that wasn’t the case as ‘Georgie’ began to violently shake and scream, orange puffballs sprouting out of the tips of his toes and his jeans and galoshes melting into Pennywise’s dirty, cream-coloured suit. The shaking stopped only for his arms and legs to double in length and width, one at a time, in conjunction with a gross snapping and squelching sound, like his bones and muscle were being stretched and broken to assume his new form.

        Again, silence and stillness when he shot up. It was him. It was IT. IT smiled demonically, and lunged for Bill. Everyone began to scream for Bill to ‘Shoot it! Kill that fuckin thing!’, covering up Mike yelling that the revolver wasn’t loaded and Susie watching in silent horror.

        Not hearing Mike, Bill pulled the trigger and IT froze, his face paint chipping where he had been ‘shot’, effectively tricking him into thinking he actually shot it. Mike and Susie exchanged worried looks.

        Bill turned around with a slight smile on his face for once when IT slowly returned to normal, cutting everyone short. Bill turned back in fear, trying to shoot it again, only shooting blanks when IT began to shake violently, teeth bared and eyes blazing. IT charged Bill as everyone scattered, knocking him to the ground and gnashing it’s teeth. The only thing stopping it from ripping out Bill’s throat was the empty gun he shoved between it’s jaws.

        “Leave him alone!” Beverly growled at the monster, attempting to skewer it with an iron spike again, but IT was quick this time, grabbing the spike and forcing her away.

        “Beverly no!” Eddie cried and Mike stepped in with a pole, poised like a batter,

        “Mike!” Stan wailed, when IT swept an arm at him, making him fly back and into the junkpile.

        Bill crawled out from under IT and onto IT’s back, forcing a rusted metal bar into its mouth much like a bit goes into a horse’s. Bill was the rider now. Beverly helped a struggling Mike up.

        Susie rushed the beast and swung a lead pipe into it’s gut like she was batting a home run, making the creature cough up blood before it swung it’s arm into the kid. Like Mike before, Susie went flying and crashed into a concrete wall, a shrill scream accompanying the dull thud of a body meeting stone.

        Richie jumped on IT to help Bill and it began to flail and spin, obviously wanting to knock the children off, and making the battle synonymous to a demented mechanical bull ride.

        IT had both arms out now with Ben clinging and biting onto one, Stan’s shirt gripped in the other and IT spun faster and faster, thwarting Mike’s attempts to get another hit in, not wanting to hurt his best friends.

        IT let go of Stan and he flew back, his fall not breaking or fracturing anything, and he rolled before quickly crawling away.

        It reached it’s gloved hand over its shoulder and grabbed Richie’s tacky hawaiian shirt, throwing him over it’s head and onto his back with a cry of pain.

        Eventually, it was just Bill and It grabbed him and forced him over, much like Richie, into a headlock. Everyone fell still, panting from the force of the short fight or whatever pain had been inflicted upon them.

        “Bill! Let him go!” the Losers cried in vain.

        “No,” It began, “I’ll take him. I’ll take all of you and I’ll feast on your flesh as I feed on your fear.” It paused for dramatic effect. “Oooooorrrrrr . . .” IT spoke in a strange inflected voice, raising a finger and grinning one of it’s sick, signature grins, “you’ll just leave us be,” tightening Its grip on a whimpering Bill, “I’ll take him, only him. And then I will have my long rest and you will all live to grow old and thrive and lead happy lives until old age takes you back to the weeds.” The silence thickened as the Losers didn’t know what to do. They were scared.

        “Leave . . .” Bill croaked, “I’m the one who dragged you all into this. I’m s-s-s-s, I’m s-s-sorry.”

        “S-s-s-s-sorry.” It mocked him, wide, orange eyes bouncing from child to child.

        “Go!” he whimpered.

        “Guys! W-we can’t!” Beverly cried, turning from Loser to Loser, looking at them with sad, pleading eyes and seeing them mirrored back.

        “I’m s-s-suh. S-s-s-sorry.” Bill murmured, trying again to get them to leave.

        “I told you, Bill.” Richie said and everyone directed their attention to him.

        “I fucking told you. I don’t want to die. It’s your fault.”

        He began to list things off on his fingers,

        “You punched me in the face,

        You made me walk through shitty water,

        You brought me to a fucking crackhead house, and now,” punctuating each pause with a step, Richie approached the junkpile, keeping a glaring gaze on the clown holding his best friend like a vice. Rich grabbed a sturdy wooden bat from the pile of odds and ends and stepped even closer.

        IT threw Bill down and stood, trying to scare off the offending child,

        “I’m gonna have to kill this fucking clown! Welcome to the Losers club, asshole!” Richie shrieked and IT came forward, roaring, only to be whacked straight in the head by a Louisville Slugger.

        Mike stepped in with his metal rod and swung it right in ITs face. It’s jaw dropped and charred, burning hands were forced from its throat, clinging and pushing at the weapon, reaching and calling and screaming for Mike. He froze, struggling with the beast.

        Stanley ran and grabbed a pipe and brought it down on the arms, shifting ITs focus onto him.

        The face stretched and darkened into the painting’s before rushing at him. Stan stopped before swinging the pipe and screaming with all his might. Mike let out a battle cry and rushed it again but this time, IT dodged and tripped Mike. It’s arms extended and sharpened like giant bird talons and stabbed and clawed the ground where Mike was, him rolling away each time.

        Ben stepped to the rescue, grabbing the iron spike from Bev and stabbing IT’s back, both of them screaming and the monster curled back and flailed as blood spurted from the wound.

        Ben’s hand was sucked into its chest as IT spun its head around, shifting into a dry, decaying mummy, its dirty linen wrappings flying all over like hair flowing in the wind. He tried to pull his hand out when it began to wrap the linens around his thick neck and bite at him. Ben screamed, losing air, when Bill grabbed a thick chain and whipped it at IT, forcing the predator away from its prey. Richie knocked IT to its knees with the bat and Bill whipped IT more, making it fly with each swipe.

        IT faced a cowering Eddie and Susie. Turning to the boy first, IT began crawling towards him, retching and wheezing when the leper’s face vomited thick black goo onto Eddie. Everyone gagged at the sight. Eddie, however only grew mad, spitting the liquid out of his mouth and screaming,

        “I’m gonna fucking kill you!” before kicking IT in the face, landing facing Susie.

        IT’s eyes, along with the rest of its face, bulged and became bloated, skin turning pallid and decayed. Bits of water soaked flesh dripped to the ground as dirty water flowed out of its eyes, nose, mouth and ears. It was a bloated corpse left to rot in the standpipe, just like those children all those years ago.

        Susie let out an angry cry and bashed IT over the head with a heavy lead pipe and was forced face first into the ground.

        IT shuffled on its knees, snuffling about like a wild pig rooting for food, before sharply cracking its neck to look up at Beverly with her father’s face and IT grinned a wicked grin.

        “Hey Bevvie,” IT purred in her father’s voice, “Are you still my little girl?”

        Beverly let out a furios shriek, shoving the iron spike down his throat as a final act of defiance against her father and against the beast in front of her. IT choked on the spike, his skin fading back to facepaint and his evil, muted blue eyes melted back to a violent orange, before spitting it up.

        “Holy shit!”

        Still on its knees, IT whipped around, glaring at the children, weapons brandished, and knew it was defeated. Falling into the well, the kids stalked towards it, ready to strike should the need arise.

        “Fear . . .” IT rasped as its head peeled and broke apart, the flesh floating in the air, before it fell down the well, falling faster than it should have, like IT was exponentially heavy.

        The kids stood, panting and finally able to relax and check each other over for injuries. Susie’s adrenaline kick began to wear off and the dull throbbing in her arm that she ignored before became stronger and more painful, forcing her to the ground with a cry. Everyone was dirty and panting. Stan's bite marks were burning with the salty, dirty sweat pooling in them. Otherwise, it and IT’s reign of terror was over.

For now.

 

* * *

 

 

        The kids were in their own little worlds, panting and aching, when they noticed Big Bill suck in a breath and amble over to the junk pile. They were confused until they saw him kneel in front of a dirty yellow something.

_Georgie's raincoat._

        Bill grabbed it and brought it close to his heart, sobbing for his lost brother.

        His best friends gathered in around him and wept with him. Weeping for Bill and Georgie and having to grow up way too fast. They wept and sniffled and heaved.

        They did not weep for IT.


	6. The Scene™

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so, this is basically the sex scene from the book but with my character and all the children aged up to 14. If this bothers you, please feel free to skip to the next chapter as skipping this scene does not affect the comprehension of the overall story.

        “Oh, Jeez,” Eddie said . . . almost moaned. “I forgot about him. Sure he is, sure he is, he’s probably as lost as we are and we could run into him any time . . . Jeez, Bill, don’t you have any ideas? Your dad works down here! Don’t you have any ideas at all?”

        Bill listened to the distant mocking thunder of the water and tried to have the idea that Eddie–all of them–had a right to demand. Because yes, correct, he had gotten them into this and it was his responsibility to get them back out again. Nothing came. Nothing. 

        Little did he know, the two girls of the Losers Club grabbed hands in the dark, sharing an idea between their palms.

        “We have an idea,” Beverly said quietly.

        In the dark, Bill heard two sounds he could not immediately place. Whispery little sounds, but not scary. Then there were more easily placed sounds . . . two zippers, one after the other. What–? he thought, and then realized what. They were undressing. For some reason, Beverly and Susie were _undressing_.

        “What are you doing?” Richie asked, his shocked voice cracking on the last word and heart pumping and swelling.

        “We know something,” Beverly said in the dark, and to Bill her voice sounded older. “I know because my father told me and I told Susie. We know how to bring us back together. And if we’re not together we’ll never get out.”

        “What?” Ben asked, sounding bewildered and terrified. “What are you talking about?”

        “Something that will bring us together forever. Something that will show–”

        “Nuh-Nuh-No, B-B-Beverly! Suh-Susie!” Bill said, suddenly understanding, understanding everything.

        “–that will show you that we love you all,” Susie finished, “that you’re all our friends.”

        “What’re they t–” Mike began. Calmly, Beverly cut across his words. “Who’s first?” she asked.

         _Beverly’s thoughts broke off as she realized that both Eddie and Bill stepped forward at the same time because they were the most frightened. Eddie came to Beverly first. He came to her not as a friend of that summer, or as her brief lover now, but the way he would have come to his mother only three or four years ago, to be comforted; he doesn’t draw back from her smooth nakedness and at first she doubts if he even feels it. He is trembling, and although she holds him, the darkness is so perfect that even this close she cannot see him; except for the rough cast he might as well have been a phantom._

         _“What do you want me to do?” he asks her._

         _“You have to put your thing in me,” she says._

         _He tries to pull back but she holds him and he subsides against her. She heard Bill and Susie whispering to each other, Bill drawing in a shaky breath._

         _“Bevvie, I can’t do that. I don't know how–”_

         _“I think it's easy. But you’ll have to get undressed.” She thinks about the intricacies of managing cast and shirt. “Your pants, anyway.”_

         _“No, I can’t!” But she thinks he can._

* * *

        “Bill.” Susie breathed and his heart sped up at the soft voice she used for him. She reached out in the impenetrable darkness for him. Bill reached for her as well and her soft hands wrapped him in a warm embrace. He shuddered at her smooth skin but melted into her, putting his nose where her neck met her shoulder and inhaled the familiar fragrance of lilac and the forest after rain mixed with the saltiness of sweat and the iron-tinged scent of blood.

        “Suh-suh-s-Susie, I-I-I-I, I can’t!” Bill whispered, his palms going sweaty with nerves and hands shaking. She just gripped him tighter and muttered into his neck.

        “Bill. Please.” she pleaded and he molded to her will like putty in her palms. Bill pulled back a bit and Susie’s hands drifted down his chest, pulling off his signature flannel, before settling on the protruding hip bones under his shirt. He groaned under his breath at the contact but that only seemed to urge her on as she slipped the t-shirt off his thin but toned body before moving to the waistband of his jeans that seemed to have gotten uncomfortably tight in the last few minutes and he let her unbutton them, letting them slide down his thighs to rest just above his knees.

        Susie held him against her, her chest pressing into his and an uncomfortable hardness poking her soft inner thigh as she laid them down and opened her legs. She felt sensitive all over and wherever Bill touched her burned comfortably while a wet heat throbbed between her legs.

        They shuffled a bit in the pitch blackness and the thing that was poking her leg pressed against her womanhood and they both moaned at the contact. Susie shut her eyes tight, despite already lacking sight.

        “Bill. _Please_.” she whimpered and a spark ignited in him, forcing his hips forward and pressing into her smoothly and all too quickly. She hissed at the quick, sharp pain and Bill stopped the motion halfway through.

        “A-a-are y-you okay, S-S-Susie?” Bill whispered frantically, afraid he hurt her. 

        “Y-yeah, I’m fine, just - keep going.” she groaned as she adjusted to him in her, the pain subsiding. He buried himself deep within her and stopped again for a moment, to let her get used to the feeling. She squeezed his hip and he pulled back agonisingly slowly only to push back in at the same speed.

        “You can go faster, Bill.” She let out a breathy chuckle that morphed into a ragged moan as he picked up his speed.

        Soft wet pumping and gentle slapping accompanied by quiet sighs, whimpers and moans echoed through the damp tunnel and just as soon as it began, it ended with a whimpering sigh punctuated with panting and shifting. Bill stiffened, his hands tightly gripping her soft flesh and she felt a quiver within herself. Susie felt a pulsing deep within her and a warmth filled her. Bill retreated from her and she felt empty and unfinished.

        Susie was writhing on the ground, wanting to get off as Bill had when Stan stepped between her legs and wrapped his arms around her. She only realised it was him when she felt the mop of curls rest upon her chest and she sighed lovingly, running her fingers through his smooth ringlets. He pulled off his button up and pulled down his khakis and the act repeated. It was similar to Bill in that he pushed in too fast, making her hiss in pain, considerably less than when Bill did it but still there nonetheless. As Stan continued his rutting into her, she felt a knot within her stomach and was uncomfortable with its presence until it started to unravel. She stuck her hand to her mouth to block the intense moans from the pleasure rippling through her body, not wanting the rest of the losers to think she was being hurt.

        And, like Bill, Stan pulled away too quickly and the intense pleasure faded, like the connection between them, and she was left slightly dissatisfied but not upset.

        Susie took a moment to calm her heart when someone gently touched her knee with a soft hand and she reached out for them. Their hands connected and she instantly recognised him as Ben. Susie smiled softly into the dark and wrapped him in a hug, their chests pressing against one another and his face going into the crook of her neck.

        “You know what you need to do, right?” she mumbled into his ear and she felt him grip her a little harder before pulling away.

        “Ben?” she called into the darkness before hearing a familiar whispery sound. Susie reached out again when Ben grasped her waist and thrusted into her and she let out a strangled cry at the mass of _him_. He pressed into her and she reeled a bit at the feeling. After he had buried himself, Ben pulled out and she felt a liquid begin to trickle down the backs of her legs before he slammed back in. Susie heard shuffling come towards her, the other losers were coming to check on her. 

        “I’m-I’m fine.” she panted out as intense waves of pleasure rolled over with every thrust of Ben’s hips. The knot with in her stomach tied up quickly and she groaned at the feeling before it quickly released and she was filled with such _joie de vivre_ she felt like she was flying. She began to come down from her high, but, as Ben wasn’t finished, he continued his pulsating and she began to cry from the overstimulation, arching her back into him. But as soon as it began, Ben finished it with a small cry and a final twitch of his hips.

        He pulled away and she was left again with an empty feeling. Ben’s hand reached out in the darkness, finding her shoulder before trailing his soft fingertips up her neck to her jaw and placed a gentle kiss on her lips and she understood what he didn’t have the words to say and she smiled into his lips. And just like that, he left and Susie was left to wait for the next person to come to her.

        Mike was next, massaging his large, rough hands into the now sensitive skin of her hips. She found the hem of his t-shirt and slipped her hands underneath. He groaned as she ran her fingers up his torso, feeling the rumble in his chest and the strong muscles beneath his warm skin. He unbuttoned his jeans and slid them down to his knees, his hardness already pressing at her and she was ready again. Mike entered her warmth and the act repeated only for him to leave with a kiss to her stomach just as she reached her peak and she groaned into the air.

        A shuffling sounded from between her legs and two hands, one small and smooth, the other covered in a rough cast, grabbed her hips. She smiled and began to say his name,

        “Ed- aah!” when it was cut off by a strangled cry as Eddie began to slam his hips into her. It was hard and rough as he gripped her waist with such ferocity, it would surely leave bruises where his fingertips dug into her soft flesh.

        He rutted deeply and ruthlessly within her and the knot from before finally burst and she was left reeling with intense pleasure and overstimulation clouding her mind, tears dripping down her cheeks, and she couldn’t think about anything other than how sensitive she was and how every rough thrust of his hips ripped a loud cry from her throat. Not seconds later, the knot in her stomach was coiling yet again and her high washed over her with another loud, whimpering moan. Her hands gripped Eddie’s forearms and he groaned with effort as he finished within her.

        Eddie pulled out, agonisingly slowly and she whimpered as the contact stung a little from how sensitive she now was. Eddie sniffled before grabbing her in a tight hug and she felt a wetness begin to form in the crook of her neck.

        “I’m sorry, Susie, I just-” but she silenced him with a kiss to his soft hair.

        “It’s okay, Eddie, there’s no need to apologise. You’re okay.” she smiled, grabbing his cheeks and planting a gentle kiss to his forehead and sent him off.

        Susie gently ran her fingertips down her stomach, to feel herself, to test how sore she was. She hissed and pulled her hand away at the slightest touch of skin and awaited the final loser.

_Richie_

        Speak of the devil and he shall appear, right? Richie gently wrapped her in his embrace, sticking his nose into the crook of her neck and she clung to one of his many tacky hawaiian shirts that she loved so much and she smiled gently.

        The trashmouth trailed his fingers up her, leaving a scorching path wherever he touched her, finding her jaw. His thumb ran along her lips and she was left in awe at how gentle he was.

        “D-Does it hurt?” he whispered into the air between them as he continued his ministrations on her flesh.

        “Yeah . . . but it’s fine . . .” she murmured. But it kind of wasn’t as she was left tired and damned sore. He hummed before placing his lips on hers and she was left in awe yet again at the gentleness of it all and she smiled, kissing him back.

        It was messy and there was lots of fumbling but the sweetness of it, their first kiss, had Susie humming into his mouth and Richie smiled one of his signature lopsided grins.

        She helped him take off his shirts and pants and the act was ready to repeat again. This time, however, Susie felt it would be different. There was a soft passion as he took to her lips again and she knew it would be different.

        Richie pulled back, looking into the space where her eyes should be.

        “Are you ready?” he hummed. Susie captured his lips once more and, taking that as an OK, he pressed into her. She groaned into his mouth and he began gently moving within her.

        It’s not as it was with anyone else. There is passion and being with Richie is the best conclusion to this that there could be. He is kind and tender and calm and everything she needs. She feels his eagerness, but it is tempered and held back by his care for her, perhaps because he doesn’t want to hurt her.

        At every roll of his hips, he hits something deep within her, moving waves of pleasure over her like waves on a beach. The knot begins rolling and knotting and she is taken aback by the strength of it all.

        And like waves on a beach, the feeling crashes over her and she is swept away by the sweetness of it she can barely register Richie’s hands on her jawline and his lips roving her face, her moans and whimpers not quite covering the sweet nothings he’s whispering into her ear.

        “I love you, Susie. We love you.”

        And the wave has receded and Richie is wiping the tears off her soft cheeks with his thumb.

        She hugs him to her and for a moment they stay that way, their foreheads pressed together and lips just centimetres apart. He withdraws with a final kiss to her swollen lips and she is left alone with an aching soreness in her hips and a stickiness between her thighs. She reaches out into the dark and her fingers strike a jewel.

_Beverly._

        They intertwine their fingers and draw themselves together in a tight embrace, chests pressed together and hands groping for a piece of skin to hold onto.

        They cling to each other with the weight of what they just did with their best friends weighing down on their shoulders and they weep.

        They weep tears of joy and sorrow and anger for being able to share in the pleasure with their best friends, for the pain they’ve gone through and for having to grow up too fast. For not being able to utter a word to anyone, not even the rest of the Losers. Not even each other.

        They press their lips to each other’s shoulders, in an act of soothing and their tears soak each other’s skin and they separate, alone for the first time in a while.

_**Alone and aching.** _


	7. Henry Is A Sick Fuck

        Henry always had this, _thing_ , for Susie. It had mostly gone unnoticed by the club. Sometimes, however, this _thing_ was more palpable when Henry would attack the boys and then drag his eyes up her form, basically undressing her with his eyes as she helped them up . . . Just for an example. Nevertheless, she ignored him and his gang anyways.

        One fine summer day, Susie was walking to the pharmacy to grab a couple things for Eddie and pick up some prescriptions. It being summer in New England, Susie wore a comfortable sundress that fell mid thigh and a pair of sneakers.

An appropriate outfit for a hot day.

        To another, however, the outfit was arousing, sickeningly so, as he crouched in the cool shadows behind the pharmacy. The 16 year old was so caught up in her thoughts, very excited to meet up with her partners there, that she didn’t notice the figure until it had grabbed her with its large, clammy hands and dragged her behind the store. She was so shocked she didn’t utter anything but a squeak as one of the hands clamped around her chest while the other dug into her squishy love handles with thick fingers and sharp nails. 

        For a moment, she thought her captor was IT but she realized this was an even more dangerous threat at the moment.

_**Henry.** _

        She was too afraid to do anything as he put both of her small wrists in one hand and pressed her soft palms into the rough brick wall. He ran his other hand up her skirt, brushing the tops of her thighs and the bottom seam of her underwear. She felt her eyes well up at this. He ground his pelvis into hers as he moved his hand up her body, pulling her skirt up in the process, to grope her breasts. Quite roughly, I might add, but Henry wasn’t known for being gentle.

        “H-Henry, please. D-don’t.” She whimpered with a dry throat and wet cheeks. She felt something start to poke her each time he ground his hips into her soft backside and she sobbed.

         _“Shut. Up,”_ he growled into her ear with clenched teeth. “Just let this happen.” She whimpered as she felt him get harder.

        He began to grind even harder into her hips, if that was even possible, and roughly grabbed her breast, squeezing like he was trying to pop it, bruises forming where his fingertips dug into her malleable skin.

        Henry then traced down her form, feeling every centimetre down to her hips, catching them once more with a harsh squeeze, his tongue and teeth ravishing her neck and shoulder, more bruises forming.

        He removed his hand and she started to feel relieved until she realized he was reaching into his jeans, suddenly fearing what he would pull out. Either way, she was sure it would hurt. And oh boy it would. It was his switchblade, the metal glinting in what little sunlight there was in that alley, reflecting the terror in her eyes and the lustful haze in his.

        He roughly flipped her around and pressed her back into the stony brick. Susie wanted to cry out as he started to drag the knife across her thighs, pressing hard enough so as to leave prominent scars, but all that came out was a small whine as she watched him do it, cuts overlapping and oozing blood.

        Henry soon seemed to grow tired of cutting her large thighs as he started dragging the blade up from her bellybutton to in between her breasts, tearing her dress as he did so. She was also given a cut across her cheek and neck in a couple of the places he kissed and sucked.

        She only mustered up the strength to scream once the bully started to etch letters into the fleshy pudge of her stomach and once she did, it was blood-curdling.

        Luckily for the poor girl, the Losers Club was making their way to meet Susie outside the pharmacy, Mike and Ben leading the way, chatting happily in the summer sun when they heard that scream. They all paled and their hearts stopped as they remembered where they heard that scream from. It was their girlfriend’s. _Susie, when they first found her being cut up by Henry_. It was nauseating. Despite that collective feeling in the pits of their stomachs, they all dropped into a dead sprint. Mike, Richie and Ben led the group, being the fastest three, arms pumping and breath hard to come by.

        The Losers skidded into the alley just in time to see a bruised and bloody Susie being carved into like a Christmas ham. Their hearts dropped as they saw her, clothes tattered and soaked with tears and blood, skin even more pale than usual from the bloodloss.

        Mike was the first to throw a punch. Henry hadn’t seen them as he was biting at the spot her neck met her shoulder so hard that his canines drew blood, eliciting a whimper from her sore throat. He was caught off guard, falling backwards as he dropped Susie. She immediately started crumpling to the ground when Bill and Richie lunged forward to catch her just in time. She started bawling with what little strength she could muster as she weakly clung onto the heartbroken boys’ shirts as they cradled her to their chests. Bill and Richie gently dragged the girl back to the rest of the losers so they could protect and comfort her better, forming a defensive circle around her.

        Henry’s lip was bleeding as he looked up at a fuming Mike. Still, he wiped his lip with the back of his hand and chuckled darkly as he started to get up. Mike was about to lunge forward again but Stan placed a gentle hand on his bicep, urging him to stop moving. Both of them, of course, still mad.

        “At least I still got some from your girlfriend.” Henry said, grabbing his (still hard) junk and smirking suggestively, causing the poor girl to sob even harder. Mike basically had steam shooting out of his ears as he landed a punch on the bully’s nose, hearing a sickening crunch as he did so once he heard his girlfriend’s distress.

        Henry managed to stumble away from the seething farmhand and the angry jewish boy behind him. Once he was far enough away, Mike’s facade crumbled and he fell into the boy’s outstretched arms. They were both devastated. Once they pulled apart, eyes glossy for their lover, they returned to the rest of the group, mourning and trying to comfort their partner in the middle.

        Their hearts broke and ached for her once they propped her up and got a good look at her, to asses the damage.

        Her dress was torn up the middle, a deep cut beginning from her bellybutton, trailing up her navel and stopping in the valley of her breasts. Bruises splattered across the pale skin of her chest; the dark purple contrasting greatly with the creamy color of her flesh. Smaller but just as deep cuts littered the tops of her thick thighs, some ripping into her underwear at points, making vomit rise into their throats at the thought. Eyes trailing up her body again brought them to the multiple bleeding bitemarks and hickeys bitten into her neck and the junction of her shoulder, streams of blood trailing down her torso.

        However, the worst cut that was bleeding the most and would scar her skin for the rest of her life, was **_LOSER_** carved into the soft pudge of her stomach.


	8. Stanley Takes A Bath

        That night, lacking roughly six months of being 27 years from the day in 1988 when little Georgie Denbrough had met Pennywise the Clown, Stanley and Susanna had been sitting in the den of their home in a suburb in West Allis, Wisconsin. The radio was on, playing soft music from their childhoods in the late 70s and 80s. 

        Susie was at her easel set up near the boombox, letting the notes and voices wash over her like her paintbrush over the canvas. Her ears perked up when she recognised the song that came on next: All I Want by the Violent Femmes.

        She adored the band and this song in particular she loved. It reminded her of her wedding and one of the songs her and Stan first danced to as wife and husband.

        Speaking of husband, Stanley was sat on the loveseat to her right reading a book by one of their old friends from Maine, William Denbrough, known affectionately as Big Bill and not-so-affectionately as Stuttering Bill. She wondered if he stuttered anymore.

_Probably not_ . She concluded. _He always hated that stutter_.

        Bill’s works had fascinated her. They were not just novels, they were horror books. She and Stanley had almost finished reading all his novels they could find: he was reading his last one right now.

        They were horrifying containing monsters chasing after children and killings. They were thrilling but there was a little _something_ in the back of her mind, nagging her, telling her it was all somehow familiar. She just couldn’t place why and wondered if Stan felt that way too.

_Jamais-vu._

        It felt as if they’d rediscovered one of their childhood chums, they’d even talked about writing to him, but they hadn’t yet, Susie’d drafted a letter or two, destined to sit in the study and collect dust.

        She wasn’t sure though. Big Bill was a different person now, especially since he had gotten rich off writing those novels.

        Not that the Caro-Urises were doing so badly themselves! Stanley being a big-shot actuary and Susie being a college professor, they weren’t doing too shabby.

        Things were good. They had not always been that way of course ― were things ever? When she accepted Stanley’s engagement, their parents had worried for them, overly worried, for sure, but were not entirely surprised.

        They had always had this connection when they were younger and it was quite obvious that the connection had only grown stronger as time went on.

        However, her parents had been a little surprised at first that she didn’t pursue another kid from Maine, she couldn’t remember his name, only that he was a trashmouth and had an affinity for tacky button-ups, but they had always loved Stanley as well.

        Mr. Uris and Mrs. Bertoly both loved Susie, too. She was always kind, helpful and smart as a child. They had always appreciated her relationship with Stanley as well. She was like a daughter to them and now she really was.

        She had loved him for a long time and he, her.

        Stanley seemed so sure of himself, confident of the future, unconcerned with the pitfalls their parents worried about for “the kids”. And, in the end, it was his confidence rather than their fears that had been justified.

        In July of 2001, with the ink barely dry on her associates degree, Susie had landed a job teaching art history at MIAD, Milwaukee Institute of Art and Design, a college in downtown Milwaukee. If she thought about it, it was rather odd how she actually got the job.

        She had made a list of 40-odd possibilities from the ads, then had written forty letters over five nights ー eight each evening ー requesting further information on the job and an application for each. Twenty-two replies indicated that the positions had already been filled and six she would not be in the running for; she just didn’t have the proper qualifications. So, she was left with 12 options, each looking just as likely as the other. Stan had come in while she was puzzling over the and wondering if she could possible manage to fill out a dozen teaching applications without going crazy. He looked at his wife, bags under her eyes and fingers tangled in her mess of curls, then looked at the papers strewn about her desk and tapped the letter from the Dean of MIAD, a letter which looked no more or less special than any of the others.

        “There,” he said.

        She looked up at him, confused by the certainty in his voice, then chuckled.

        “Is there something you know about Wisconsin that I don’t?”

        “Nope. I just feel it.”

        She cocked an eyebrow at him.

        “Only time I was ever there was in a book. Do I sound like I’m from Wis-can-son to you, Susie?”

        She giggled at him again.

        “If you don’t know anything about Wisconsin other than the birds that live there and you’ve never been, then why ー”

        “Because it’s _right_.”

        “You can’t _know_   that, Stanley.” she chided but she felt a little something in the pit of her stomach.

        “Sure I can.” he said simply, straightening up and stuffing his hands in his pockets. “I _do_.” she looked at him and as he spoke those two words, she was reminded of their wedding and the sureness he said those words then as he did now. 

        “Yeah but _how_ do you know?” she mused lightly.

        The faint smile he had worn not seconds before faltered and fell and for a moment, he had seemed puzzled. His eyes had darkened, as if he looked inward, consulting some interior device which ticked and whirred correctly but which, ultimately, he understood no more than the average person understands the workings of the watch on their wrist.

        “ _The turtle couldn’t help us_ ,” he whispered suddenly. She flinched at the abruptness and was pulled into her own trance and grew numb. It felt like her heart understood him but her brain hadn’t and she sat there, stiff, looking up at him as tears began to leak out of her eyes and roll down her pale freckled cheeks.

        His eyes drifted away, simply staring, looking, but it was just his eyes, not him. She hiccuped and he jerked out of his trance, knocking over a jar of pencils on her desk, breaking the glass as he dropped to her level and his eyes seemed to clear. He began to panic a little as he placed his warm hands on her cheeks to wipe away the tears.

        “Shit! I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to scare you, babylove.” his thumbs gently rubbed her cheeks and she reached up to grab one of his hands in hers, hiccuping again before speaking.

        “It’s okay, Stan.” she sniffled. “You didn’t scare me, just, _reminded_ me . . . I don’t know . . .”

        She sniffled again and turned back to the applications.

        “Alright,” she murmured, “let’s try Milwaukee.”

        “ _Trust me_.” he said, gently caressing her nondominant hand which he chose to hold. And she did.

        Her interview had gone smashingly. She had know she had the job when she got on the train back to New York. The head of the business department had taken an instant liking to Susie and she to him; she had almost heard the click. The confirming letter had come a week later. The college could offer quite a bit and a probationary contract.

        “I fear you may starve,” Ferdinand Caro said to his daughter once he heard she had taken the job, his wife Eva nodding along solemnly. “And you will be cold while you starve.”

        “Fiddle-dee-dee, Scarlett,” Stanley said when she told him what her father had said. She had been furious, near tears but now she began to giggle and Stan swept her into his arms, smiling and kissing away the tears that had dripped down her cheeks.

        Cold they had been; starved they had not.

        They were married on June 19th, 1997. And while Susanna had not gone to her marriage bed a virgin, it had been many, many years. She had slipped naked between cool sheets at a resort hotel in California, her mood turbulent and stormy ー lightning-flares of want and delicious lust, dark clouds of fright.

        When Stan slid into bed beside her, ropey with muscle, his cock an exclamation point rising from gingery blonde pubic hair, she whispered, “ _Don’t hurt me; please_.”

        “I will _never_ hurt you, love.” he said as he took her in his arms, and it was a promise he kept faithfully until October 14th, 2016 ー the night of the bath.

        Their income was great and, with no fuss and no fanfare, Susanna Caro-Uris had thrown away her birth control pills.

        Soon, Stanley quit his job and opened his own business. All four in-laws agreed that this was a foolhardy move. Not that Stanley should not have his own business ー God forbid he should not have his own business! But it was too early, all of them agreed, and put too much financial strain on Susie (“At least until he knocks her up.” her brother said after a night of drinking at a Uris-Caro family reunion, unaware Susie was listening. “And then dad’ll have to carry ‘em”). Again, she got angry, enough for tears to spring to her eyes and a florid flush to her cheeks.

        Again, Stan seemed almost preternaturally confident. He was young, personable, bright, apt. He had made contacts working for his old job. All these things were givens. But he could not have known that Corridor Video, a pioneer in the nascent DVD business, was about to settle on a huge patch of land to which the Caro-Urises had eventually moved to in 2009. Nor could he have known that Corridor would be in the market for an independent marketing survey less than a year after their move to Milwaukee. Even if Stan had been privy to some of this information, he surely could not have believed they would give the job to a young, bespectacled Jew, a Jew with an easy grin, a hipshot way of walking, a taste for loose, comfortable jeans on his days off, and the last ghosts of his adolescent acne still on his face: yet they had. They had. And it seemed that Stanley had known it all along.

        His work for Corridor Video led to an offer of a full-time position with the company ー starting at $101,000 a year.

        “And that really is only the start,” Stanley told Susie in bed that night, “They’re going to grow like corn in August, babylove. If no one blows up the world in the next few years or so, they’re going to be right up there with Dot Com and Apple and ー”

        “So what are you going to do?” She asked, already knowing.

        “I’m going to tell them what a pleasure it was to do business with them,” he said and laughed and drew her close and kissed her nose while she smiled along with him.

        Moments later, he mounted her and there were climaxes ー one, two, and three, like bright rockets going off in the night sky . . . but there was no baby.

        Their income rose to the mythical **Six Figures** but a thought haunted Susanna almost nightly.

_the turtle couldn’t help us_

        For whatever reason at all, she would wake up with this thought in her mind like one last fragment of an otherwise forgotten dream and she would turn to Stanley, needing to touch him, needing to make sure he was still there. And she would. She would cuddle into his back and kiss the back of his neck, right along his spine, wrapping her arms around his waist and nose pressed into his skin. This comforted her for a moment but she would feel something missing. Some _one_ missing. But not just one person. Several and she was puzzled by the revelation.

        It was a good life aside from those waking nightmares . . . and her mother.

        She always wrote letters, mostly gossip but there were pauses where she asked questions or talked about her siblings. However, a new question kept popping up in those letters.

        “When are you going to make us grandparents? None of us are getting any younger!”

        Susanna, afraid and unsure what was to come, had gone into what was to be their bedroom in their new home and laid down on the mattress. She put her head in her arms and lay there weeping for nearly 10 minutes. She supposed that cry had been coming anyway. Her mother’s letter had just brought it on sooner, the way dust hurries the tickle in your nose into a sneeze.

        Stanley wanted kids. Hell, **she** wanted kids. They were compatible on that subject as they were on their shared enjoyment of shitty old movies, their more or less regular attendance at synagogue, their political leanings and a hundred other things both great and small. There had been an extra room in the house at the top of the stairs which they had split evenly down the middle. On the left, Stanley had a desk for working and a chair for reading, on the right, Susie had a drafting table and a tarp on the ground. There had been a silent agreement between them about that room so strong they rarely spoke of it ー it was simply there, like like their noses or the wedding rings on their left hands. Someday that room would belong to a Louis or an Ida. But where was that child? The drafting table and the cups of pencils and paintbrushes and the tarp and the desk and the La-Z-Boy all kept their places, seeming each month to solidify their holds on their respective positions in the room and to further establish their legitimacy. So she thought, although she could never crystallize the thought; it was a concept that danced just beyond her ability to quantify. But she did remember one time when she got her period, sliding open the cupboard under the bathroom sink to get a pad and tampon; she remembered looking at the Stayfree pads and tampons and thinking that the box looked almost smug, seemed to almost be saying ‘ _Hi, Susie! We are your children! We are the only children you will ever have, and we are hungry. Nurse us. Nurse us on_ **_blood_ ** _.’_

        “It’s me,” he said. “It’s my fault.”

        She rolled toward him, groped for him, held him.

        “Don’t be silly,” she said. But her heart was beating fast ー much too fast. It wasn’t just that he had startled her; it was as if he had looked into her mind and read a secret conviction she had held there but of which she had not known until that minute. With no rhyme, no reason, she felt ー _knew_ ー that he was right. _Partially_. There was something wrong and it wasn’t just her and it wasn’t just him. It was something. Something in them.

        “Don’t be such a klutz,” she whispered fiercely against his shoulder. He was sweating lightly and she became suddenly aware that he was afraid. The fear was coming off him in cold waves and she shivered; lying naked with him was suddenly like lying naked in front of an open refrigerator on a cold tile floor in a Canadian winter.

        “I’m not a klutz and I’m not being stupid,” he said in that tone of voice which was simultaneously fat and choked with emotion, “And you know it. It’s me. But I don’t know why.”

        “You can’t know such a thing,” Her voice was soft, gentle ー her mother’s voice when she was afraid. And even as she comforted him, a shudder ran through her body, twisting it like a whip. Stanley felt it and tightened his arms around her. He was scared. She was scared too and he felt that. She right too. It wasn’t just him. It was something else. An outside force.

**_But what?_ **

        “Sometimes,” Stan muttered, “Sometimes I think I know why. Sometimes I have a dream, a bad dream, and I wake up and I think, ‘I know now. I know what’s wrong.’ Not just you not catching pregnant ー everything. Everything that’s wrong with my life.”

        “Stanley . . .” she whimpered. Susie had known something was wrong but she didn’t want to worry or scare him.

        “And-and,” he sighed. “I don’t mean from the inside, the inside is fine. I’m talking about outside. Something that should be over and isn’t. I wake up from these dreams and think, ‘My whole pleasant life has been nothing but the eye of some storm I don’t understand.’ I’m afraid. But then it just . . . fades, the way dreams do.”

        She knew he dreamed uneasily. He wasn’t the only one. On half a dozen occasions he had awoken her, thrashing and moaning. There had most likely been nights where she had slept through his dark interludes, as he did hers. She did not wriggle or cry out like him, she froze, a powerful force holding her down and pressing all the air from her lungs and tears from her eyes. Whenever she reached out to him, asked him, he said the same thing: _I can’t remember_. Then he would reach for his cigarettes and smoke sitting up in bed, waiting for the residue of the dream to pass through his pores like bad sweat.

        No kids. On the night of October 14th, 2016 ー the night of the bath ー their assorted in-laws were still waiting to be grandparents. The extra room was still an extra room; the Stayfree maxis and Stayfree tampons still occupied their accustomed spaces in the cupboard under the bathroom sink; the cardinal still paid its monthly visit.

        Other than that one cloud, their lives were pleasant enough until the phone rang during the middle of All I Want on the night of October 14th. Susie had paintbrushes, paint tubes, a cup of paint water and a rag; Stan had the new William Denbrough novel, not even out in paperback yet, in his hands. There was a snarling beast on the front cover of the book. On the back was a man with rusty brown hair wearing glasses looking out from the back cover like one would peer out a window.

        Stan was sitting nearer the phone. He picked up the receiver and said, “HelloーCaro-Uris residence.”

        He listened, and a frown line delved between his eyebrows. “Who did you say?”

        Susie felt an instant of fright, like the stab of a quickly withdrawn ice pick.

_I_ _s it mom?_ She mouthed in that instant thinking that, perhaps, her father had had a heart attack.

        Stan shook his head at her, and then smiled a bit at something the voice on the phone was saying. “You . . . _you_! Well I’ll be goddamned! Mike! How did yー”

        He fell silent again, listening. As his smile faded, she recognised ー or thought she did ー his analytic expression, a sudden change in an ongoing situation or telling him something strange or interesting.

        As she was mixing  a new colour she began thinking, _‘Stanley doesn’t know a Mike here’_ . She had met most of his clients and heard about all of them. Hell, **she** didn’t know a Mike here. But she thinks she did once, back in Maine. Was this him?

        Susie was vaguely aware that the conversation was settling into a smooth groove ー Stanley grunted occasionally and once he asked “Are you sure, Mike?” Finally, after a very long pause, he said, “All right, I understand . . . yes, I . . . Yes. Yes, everything. I have the picture. I . . . what? No, I can’t absolutely promise that, but I’ll consider it carefully. You know that . . . Oh? . . . Yeah . . . I’ll give her the phone. Here.” and he looked at her, motioning her over to the phone. She was puzzled but she stood and took the receiver anyways.

        “H-Hello?” she hesitated, unsure.

        “Susie.” said a warm, deep voice on the other end of the line and her eyes widened, memories flooding her mind. Memories long forgotten, not on purpose but forgotten nonetheless.

        “Mike,” she breathed, testing his name on her tongue. “W-what’s going on?” she asked and he sighed. She pictured him tiredly rubbing his hands on his face.

        “I’m just going to cut to the chase, okay?”

        “Okay . . . Mike?” she whimpered. “I’m scared.” Stanley who stood in front of her with a vacant stare on his face wrapped her in his arms and rested his chin on the top of her head.

        “IT’s back, Susie.” he said and her eyes unwittingly filled with tears. “We made a promise to return to Derry should IT come back. Will you?”

        She let out a sob and clapped a hand over her mouth to muffle the cries, burying her face in Stan’s sweater. He tightened his arms around Susanna, as if to protect her from whatever was out there, waiting for them.

        “I don’t think I have a choice, Mike.” she hiccuped.

        “So you’ll come?” he asked, almost eagerly, and she waveringly hummed her consent.

        “Could you try to convince Stan as well? Congratulations on the marriage, by the way.” and a sob ripped through her throat again.

        “Y-yeah, I’ll try. Goodnight, Mike.”

        “Goodnight, Mrs. Uris.” and he hung up.

        Both husband and wife had a thousand yard stare plastered across their faces, in each other’s arms.

        “I’m . . . going to go take a bath.” Stanley mumbled and she felt the words rumble through his chest.

        She simply let him go, standing near the phone, staring at the empty spot where he once stood.

        Moments later, she heard the water running but not the fridge open which was odd. First off, he was taking a bath at seven o’clock, too early, and he didn’t take a beer like he usually did.

        She decided to join him. 

        Grabbing a couple of beers, Susie slunk upstairs and into the bathroom where Stan stood, buck naked, with his head down and arms bracing himself against the sink. She closed the door behind her and set the bottles on the counter before stripping herself as well.

        When Stan looked up, he was partly shocked to see his wife standing naked in front of him, her dark curls rippling just past her shoulders and bright blue eyes boring into him.

        Of course he had seen her naked before. **Many** times before.

        What shocked him was the scars that weren’t there yesterday. They littered the tops of her thighs and dragged up her torso and across her chest. The worst were the spidery white letters scrawled across her lower stomach and her right forearm spelling LOSER and KIKE respectively and he felt the bile rise to his throat as he remembered where she got those from.

        Susanna stepped forward and braced her arms on his chest, fingertips trailing up to his jaw where, what it looked like, sharp teeth marks about the size of a quarter each ran along his jawline and she kissed every one, tears springing to their eyes at the memory.

        She then took him into her arms and something clattered to the floor, sharp and tinkling, as he wrapped his arms tightly around her body.

        “I-I don’t wa-ant to go . . .” he cried into her shoulder. “I _can’t_.” but she believed he could and she hushed him and held him against her until he subsided.

        “Let’s get you to bed, love. I’ll take care of everything.” She led him to their bed and tucked him in like the child they didn’t have, wiping the tears off his lightly tanned skin and brushing his golden curls off his forehead where they always fell and where they always used to fall when they were children and she pet his hair until sleep finally overcame him.

        Susie padded back into the bathroom and sat on the edge of the tub and shut it off, pulling the drain plug. When she brought her hand back to her, she noticed the delicate white scar that carved a ladder into her palm and she closed her fist around it.

        Averting her eyes, she finally saw what Stanley had dropped on the checkered tiles, glinting menacingly in the bright white lights.

**_A razor blade._ **

        She sucked in a breath, knowing _exactly_ what he was going to use it for, and remembered the quarry. She remembered swimming there, how warm it was but sometimes, you would hit a cold spot in the water just below your hips and you shiver. It felt as if she had hit a cold spot but it clenched around her heart.

        Quickly grabbing the piece of metal and the pack it went with from the cupboard behind the mirror, she ran quietly downstairs and threw open the back door, not caring who saw her naked body in the quickly setting sun. Susie tossed them into the bin in the alley, making sure they were as far away as possible. Far away from her Stanley.

        After staring at the dark green plastic garbage can for what felt like forever, tears began pouring out of her eyes and, within moments, she was overwhelmed and collapsed to her knees in the cold, dying grass and curled into herself.

_She was supposed to protect him. This was her job, it always was._ She sobbed, tears trickling from between the fingers pressed to her eyes and she wept bitterly.

        She wept for the children she hadn’t yet had. She wept for the children she now might never have. She wept for herself. She wept for Stanley. She wept and wept and wept.

        Susanna sniffled before rising to her feet, staring at the stars blinking into the night sky and wondering if the rest of her old friends saw them too. She sighed before turning back to the house. The house the two had practically built from the ground up, in spite of their parents, their siblings, their families, and blatant stereotypes and regretted for an instant not weeping for what they had made for themselves. And despite the dull hollow throbbing in her gut, she silently crept into their home, flicking off the lights as she went. It almost felt like she was in someone else’s house. The furniture and decor which once felt bright and comfortable was dissimilar and out of place. She climbed the stairs, old, stained hardwood creaking under her feet, her bones groaning in tandem as the world had suddenly put all its weight on her shoulders.

        Finally reaching the bathroom, she found she couldn’t even look in and quickly shut off the lights, letting out a breath she didn’t realise she was holding as she was covered in darkness. She ambled her way down the hall to their bedroom and she paused in the doorway, her hand bracing herself on the frame as she tenderly stared down at her husband and longtime friend. She sighed again before padding over to her side of the bed and slipping between the sheets. Stanley whimpered in his sleep and turned to her. She gently took him into her arms, his cheek pressed against her chest and they stilled, her face as strong and resolute as ever, knowing what they must do.

**_the turtle can’t help us_ **


End file.
